The Missing Prince
by timunderwood9
Summary: A mysterious force tied Elizabeth Bennet's soul to Fitzwilliam Darcy. Darcy had disappeared years ago, and Elizabeth dreamed of a man she must rescue from a terrible fate. But Mr. Bennet refused to help her.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Cold winter wind swept through the thicket, rustling the bare branches. A shivering crow leapt from its perch searching a crook better hidden from the freezing gusts. The sky was a dull endless grey, and had been for weeks.

Neither young man in the frozen clearing shivered, though they dressed in light summer coats, wearing no more than a tradesman might wear on the hottest day of summer. Gentleman's blood protected them from such mundane difficulties. Their horses stamped impatiently in the thick snow, and let out vast clouds with each breath. It was the coldest day of winter.

Though his body stayed warm, Darcy's spirit and soul were cold. When he'd first learned that George Wickham had used magic to bend the will of a servant girl so he could seduce her at an inn, he had cried. The second time he ever cried; the other was when his father had died. Wickham had comforted him then.

Only one support remained to Darcy: The connection, that mysterious, impossible bond. An attachment that could only be called magical with the soul of a girl he had never laid eyes upon, who he did not even know for certain existed.

"Wickham, you shall no longer be my steward." It had been Wickham's idea for them to ride over the hills and dales of Pemberley to this small meadow surrounded by the managed forest of Pemberley. A spot they had played so many times as youths. Darcy knew that he must not delay this conversation.

Darcy stood tall with his shoulders squared and his chest out. He adopted the posture his father always displayed and that his tutors had drilled into him. What he must say to George Wickham hurt. It was _hard_ to say.

Wickham paced, angry and uncontrolled, slapping his riding crop against his gloved hand again and again. "Damn it. Fitz, damn it all! We _always_ talked of what would be done once you were master and I the steward!"

"I no longer am an idle boy playing the future with his companion."

Wickham looked about the clearing, his eyes falling on an old fire pit in the center, with the rocks visible in the low snow that covered the ash marks. "Remember? You have not forgotten. I do not know what has poisoned you 'gainst me. But remember. Like brothers we were."

Darcy looked at the trees about them. He looked at the fire pit. He looked into himself for the memories.

He owed his once friend so much.

They had played in this place. Darcy broke his arm falling from that tree. They stood upon that ridge which let a man look over the entirety of Pemberley's lands. Many evenings they had sat here and talked. The stream that flowed through the dense thicket beneath them had been fished and splashed in by them. His Fitzwilliam cousins had joined them often. They'd sat around the fire ring and pretended to be highwaymen.

The memories came to him in a thick tangled clump, full of emotion, each as vibrant as the day he had experienced them. The potentia in a gentleman's body made it impossible for him to forget.

Darcy looked and Darcy remembered. "It shall not be. It seems a dream." He paused, gripping the bridle of his horse tightly. The wind shrilled through the air. Darcy added sadly, "But, being awakened, I do despise my dream."

"Damn you, quoting Shakespeare. Close — we were close as my father and yours. The tradition. The duty of my blood to your blood — what _other_ place can I serve?"

"I trust you not."

"Your dear friend — remember crying, like as if you were a lady, when your father died? The time I helped you meet that girl, when you had no sense what to do with a woman? And how you—"

"I remember."

"What have you against me? I never would damage you. Never!"

Darcy stood tall, his face impassive despite the pain in his stomach. The thick flow of potentia flooded from the portae in his body to keep the air warm around him. That warmth was eaten away quickly by the harsh winter winds that gusted and sprayed handfuls of frozen snow against everything.

"That girl? _That_ bothers you?" Wickham's mouth fell open, and he spoke furiously, poking his fingers to emphasize every sentence. "A simple servant. Not _our_ servant. Outsider. No birth, no breeding, no power. Not gentlewoman, not Darcy retainer."

That other girl. The one he was connected with. Her image had always been present in Darcy's mind, as long as he could remember. There was some connection between them that could not be explained by mystical theory. She was years younger than Darcy, but she slowly grew older with him. He knew she was of less status and not a member of any great clan. She would be very beautiful… She was almost as old as the maid Wickham had used for his pleasure.

A terrible anger fell on Darcy. Red danced in front of his eyes as he imagined _her_ being hurt. His chest tightened with desired violence. Not even friendship from childhood could stand against that feeling. But to throw his friendship away, that hurt. Darcy could not do it entirely. He remembered too clearly the way Wickham had been his companion since childhood.

Wickham raised his hands defensively. He spoke placatingly. "Fitz, she wanted me. My spell let her do what she _really_ wished. You questioned her yourself! She wished me to have her, but the consequences frightened her. With such a pretty creature, a creature who wanted me — anyone would act the same. I did nothing wrong."

"Wickham. Were we not so close I would…I would expel you from the clan. I would…damn you. I hurt as well. Why could you not have been a better man? I so wish you had been a better man."

"Not one of ours. Our obligation ends—"

"You understand _nothing_! My obligation is to my _honour_. To take the virginity of a maid — even had she _chosen_ to give it…that is _beneath_ us."

"I would never have believed you could scorn me so. I would never have believed my dearest _friend_ would treat me this way."

Darcy squeezed his fingers into his palms. He didn't say anything. His very bowels ached with his heart.

Wickham sneered. "You need a man like me to be our steward. The house will bleed! We will lose our resources if you treat outsiders like members of the family. The grandeur of the Darcys, the third great family of this little England; you shall destroy and humble this glory and greatness. My father, my father with yours worked to build us. What our grandparents created together. Generations behind us constructed this grandeur. All to be destroyed by a _boy-man._ A servant girl, _who is not ours,_ is not worth throwing away the family steward."

"My place is to decide. I am the head of the family."

The young men glared across the snowy field. Behind Wickham the trees of the well-maintained woods were decked with white and in the distance, columns of smoke rose from the many chimneys of Pemberley. The massive building displayed hundreds of windows facing every direction, and in the courtyard the green of the garden was kept ever warm by the potentia of the house.

Wickham's forehead turned pale and his veins pulsed. He clenched his teeth; he snarled, his handsome features become distended as he pulled the potentia into his hands so that he might shape it into a spell. The swirling motes of power about his hands were visible to a man trained as Darcy had been.

This once.

Wickham could strike him, and he would not punish him for it. Such laxity was a mistake; the prince of a great house could never allow his retainer to act so. But Wickham had neither the power nor skill needed to harm Darcy. Especially not so close to Pemberley. The strength of the house flowed through Darcy.

There were no witnesses. This _one_ time Darcy could allow such an attack to pass.

Wickham glared.

Darcy paid attention at once to everything; the potentia allowed his mind to run more powerfully than that of a simple human. It was a flood of adrenaline that need not end. He felt Pemberley. He felt the air around him. He felt Wickham's attachment to him as a sworn retainer of Pemberley, and he felt the motions in Wickham as he manipulated his own power.

And at moments like this, Darcy knew it was not his imagination. He felt that soft connection which should not exist.

Always present, never understood, never spoken of, pointing towards someone distant, that connection comfortingly lodged deep in him, beneath his magical core. It was that girl who he dreamt of. That girl who he had imagined as the one Wickham had hurt.

She was far beneath him, but one day he would seek her out, to see if she was a real creature, or a figment of his imagination. He would take her to his side as his dearest companion if she were real. There were stories of such things, from distant pasts, but it ought not exist. The scientific study of potentia gave reason to believe that one soul could not reach across space and touch another.

But Darcy felt her.

In this intense state the footsteps approaching from behind crunched loudly upon the snow.

Wickham relaxed, and Darcy was glad. Even if he would not have him executed, as would be his right, Darcy did not wish to seriously fight his childhood friend.

The person approaching from behind was deeply familiar to them both. Wickham turned his eyes towards the person. "Fitz shall not give me the stewardship. He _is_ angry over the girl."

Wickham held up his hand in a gesture to ask the person approaching from behind to stay where he was. Wickham looked at Darcy again, his eyes burned with need. "Why? Tell me true."

Darcy studied the man in front of him. Wickham's hair was long and curly, and he had wide sensual lips and green eyes that sparkled with motes of power.

"I told you true." Darcy had tears in his eyes. Tears that would not flow again. "You understand me not. Had you been worthy; you would have known I would care. But now I have seen through you. I have seen what you truly are."

"Ha!" There was something lunatic, something hurt in Wickham's laugh. "You think you have seen through me? You think you have controlled me. You think you can send me away? I _shall_ miss you. We did grow together, and you were always the stupid puppy following in my wake, desperate for my approval and your father's."

Focused on Wickham, Darcy did not hear the person behind them move until an instant before he felt the crack on the back of his head.

Darkness.

In a distant county a young girl screamed in fear and echoed pain.


	2. Chapter 2

Mr. Kuipers was the third doctor Mr. Bennet sought out.

Normally Mr. Bennet would ask an old college companion by the name of Mr. Roberts for help in such a case. But Mr. Roberts was a cousin of the Darcy clan, and all members of the family had been called to their great estate in Pemberley, following the disappearance of the young head of that family.

Mr. Bennet's panicked letter to his old friend had been returned with a brief, sympathetic note with the name of another colleague who specialized in disorders of the mind present in London, who could examine Elizabeth. But Mr. Roberts was a close enough relation that his presence was required until either the missing man had been found — since the intelligence that had grown within the grand estate of Pemberley insisted Fitzwilliam Darcy still lived — or until the question of the arrangements for ruling the clan in his absence had been fully made.

The illness first attacked Lizzy the day that young Darcy had disappeared. Mr. Bennet was a man of study and science. He knew better than to attribute meaning to coincidence.

She had been with him. She had come to him in the middle of the day, and explained she felt anxious and scared, though for no reason. Afterwards Mr. Bennet remembered the franticness, the way she wanted _him_ to somehow stop something, and make it better.

Every day, until he died, Mr. Bennet suspected he would see again that remembered image of her twisted face as she arched her back and screamed in wordless horror.

The local apothecary had come.

He was the first doctor, for Mr. Jones wished such an appellation, who saw Lizzy. The poorly educated professional gentleman could do nothing but simple workings that put her to sleep.

Obviously, such a man had no insight into the mystery of _why_ his daughter was in pain.

Elizabeth had remained without consciousness for the rest of the day and night, and it was during this time that Mr. Bennet had sent his letter to Mr. Robert, begging for him to help. Both Mr. Bennet and Mr. Jones were convinced the primary location of the illness was in her mind.

Mr. Roberts was one of the foremost experts on such illnesses in the kingdom. He had been the one to find the workings of potentia which allowed the King to be returned to sanity for almost half of the time, despite the progressive worsening of his Majesty's illness.

Mr. Roberts had been on the verge of leaving London when the letter reached him. He dashed off a letter, so Mr. Bennet learned from his friend about the disappearance of Darcy before the astonishing event became known to everyone.

Mr. Bennet had remained awake sitting next to Elizabeth the entire night, trying to read one of Gibbon's volumes about the decline of Rome and a novel for comfort as he sat by her bedside, alert for any change. It had been the middle of the night when he received Mr. Roberts's letter sent by express. After he read it Mr. Bennet fell into a light doze in the armchair.

When he woke up she was awake, examining the newspaper and his letters quietly. It had been more than an hour.

She wasn't screaming.

She was moving and appeared to be herself. She _wasn't_ screaming.

Mr. Bennet loved all of his daughters, a little. But Lizzy was special.

Lizzy was as he had been, as a lad, with curiosity, a desire to explore, a love for nature and for books. Though she was livelier, and more expressive. There was something of her mother's heedless willingness to act in dangerous matters without thought except for her emotions.

Mr. Bennet had always been scared of risks. Scared of playing in trees or around wells. Scared of many things. He was glad Lizzy was not like that, even if he had ceased to admire his _wife's_ heedlessness long ago.

He grabbed Lizzy and squeezed her. He'd never hugged her so tightly since she'd been a small child. "Do you still hurt? What happened, when did you wake — I have been so terrified."

She shook her head. "No. Papa."

"Never so scared — you are certain? Mr. Jones left analgesics."

Lizzy smiled slightly.

Mr. Bennet's heart still pattered with fear for his daughter. "Are you well now? Does anything — do you remember everything?"

"We must help someone."

Mr. Bennet blinked.

"He is in pain. I felt it! They drain him, and they are destroying him. We need to help him!"

"Who?"

"I don't know! I feel him! We are connected — we must save him. He is in such danger. Papa, we must. He is north. I think. He feels like he is to the north."

Mr. Bennet glanced at the letter with Mr. Roberts's news that was next to Elizabeth's lap. For some reason what she said reminded him of the strange story. Mr. Darcy missing, yet definitely alive. The anxiety for Elizabeth struck Mr. Bennet again like a cobra from the Indies snapping its head forward to pump his body full of the poison. Like a python, a cold slithering snake, wrapping round and round his ribs and squeezing till everything died.

No. Not his dear girl. Not his Lizzy. His Lizzy was still ill.

"To the north…" Mr. Bennet stared at Lizzy's fevered eyes; she sweated, despite the cold of winter. His darling girl. His daughter. Her mind, the glory of her being was her mind, not her person nor her potentia. Her mind was damaged.

"We must go now! Gather everything up. Supplies. And… tell the king's watchmen in London — they need to send an army after him. To rescue him."

"Where are the regiment of the Blues or the Bow Street Runners to go to hunt down this supposed man?"

"North! I said that. He feels…north. We must hurry. He hurts. I can still feel him in pain. He is locked there — they bleed his magic from him. All of it."

The wood fire crackled in the marble hearth, a roaring pretty flame, that kept Lizzy's modest room warm without much use of potentia. Mr. Bennet looked helplessly at his daughter.

"You do not believe me."

Mr. Bennet wished to lie. His daughter's wide eyes, dark hair, thin hands, coltish frame. Those clever eyes, full of this strange delusion. "Perhaps…" Mr. Bennet felt sick as he said this, being sure it was not true, "Strange matters have occurred with potentia. It is not certain that what you say is _impossible_ …"

"Then let's look. If only I go north — I'll find him. You'll see! If he is not there, then nothing will be there. You must call someone from the army to come with us. If we go alone, it would be dangerous. I feel doom. That makes me anxious."

"I cannot go to some colonel with such a story and beg to borrow his regiment. I would be laughed at — he will not waste his time to satisfy a girl's fancy."

"You mean you won't waste _your_ time." Lizzy was combative. Her eyes sparkled with determination. "I'll go myself! I'll find him! Then you will find I've been right all along."

"Elizabeth Bennet. You shall not run from this house after your delusion."

"I need to _help_. If you won't _help_ , I'll do it alone."

Elizabeth was his daughter. So long as she remained part of the Bennet family, he had a great level of control. It was rare for patriarchs to impose their paternal magic upon their children in these enlightened days, to attach a working upon their wills. But he still could. She was barely fifteen. Mr. Bennet had a terror of Elizabeth running lost through the wilds of the Scottish Highlands. She would freeze to death when her flows of potentia became exhausted, while he desperately searched for her, yet kept missing her, like in a dark poem, until he only found her in time to watch the light leave her body.

She would scream in pain again, like before, but no one would be there to care for her, and help her to sleep. "As the master of this family, I order and bind you. You shall not hunt this man alone."

The working took. Mr. Bennet felt the connection between them, as his potentia was channeled through the connection they both held to Longbourn and to the old magics of the Bennet family. It constrained her such that she now would be incapable of running north to find this imaginary man.

Lizzy glared at him. In her thoughts he had betrayed her.

Mr. Bennet swallowed. "My sweetest —"

"Then not alone." Elizabeth's face morphed into a pleading smile again. "Together, and…"

"I will not indulge you in such a way."

"Don't you wish to prove I am wrong?"

Mr. Bennet smiled. "I will. We will go to London and have you examined by an eminent physician. If this man is anything more than a figment of your imagination, this _impossible_ connection between you will be discovered when your potentia is studied. And, such a doctor will tell me how to help you to recover your health and good sense."

Elizabeth glared angrily.

Mr. Bennet smiled at her. "Do you not want to see _me_ proven wrong? When the doctor finds this connection, we will have solid evidence that will be enough to get at least a few investigators to come with us for safety. Running off wild is not the best."

Lizzy pondered. She pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around them. She was still his clever daughter, despite this strange obsession; she could still reason. She nodded. "We must go immediately to London. Now, this morning." She turned her wide eyes towards Mr. Bennet. "He is in pain."

The physician Mr. Roberts recommended had no appointment available until the next afternoon. So, at Elizabeth's insistence, they found a different man late in the afternoon. This doctor was useless. "Your daughter" — the man peered at Mr. Bennet over his spectacles, talking down at Mr. Bennet despite Mr. Bennet's erudition and position, as though he were a foolish child — "has determined to play a sly trick upon you. She has made a very good show of it. Getting you to run her all the way to London. I dare say the Missy expects shopping now."

Lizzy glared at the man, clearly willing him to burst into flames.

The doctor paused, attempting theater. He took snuff from his box, and puffed it up his nose. "I despise children. They always are mischief makers of this sort. But my boys have learned to be disciplined. Mr. Bennet, my professional opinion is that you ought to make a much more extensive use of the paddle. That will solve everything wrong with your daughter. She has reached _that_ age, and now obsesses with boys. If you do not discipline her, she shall cavort with a man of no family name, and you'll be left with the child and the useless swain, and—"

"Mr. Barton, good day. You can sue me in court for the remainder of your fee. You are a useless fraud, and were you not so far beneath me, I would call you out for questioning the honour of my daughter."

He sputtered, "I am not used to being treated in such a manner."

"Neither am I. Good day, sir. Good day."

The two walked out of the physician's brick office and onto the careening street, packed with rushing carriages, of the fashionable district. The day was dark, even though the sun would not set for two hours more. The sky was thick with the hazy London fog, full of the burning coal of the tradesmen who dominated the city. Wealthy, and in their way scornful of the gentry who dominated their kingdom. Men such as his wife's half-brother, with no potentia and lacking the blood of a gentleman.

Mr. Bennet walked in a direction chosen without thought. He was too angry to look for a carriage to drive them to Mr. Gardiner's house in the City itself. He was in no hurry to enter the wardings in that ancient square mile which prevented the use of powerful workings of potentia. Lizzy followed him, always his bright shadow.

They walked along the sidewalk, over the cobbled pathway, past dandies waving their canes about and wearing coats with padded shoulders to make themselves look more muscled in weak pretense. Commoners with no potentia wore clothes that mimicked the wands and swords a gentleman officer used to shape potentia upon a battlefield. Degenerate gentlemen wore the heavy coats and dark colored broadcloth of tradesman.

Mr. Bennet hated London.

They reached a massive square on the edge of the fashionable district. It was the palace of the great Darcy family. Normally the gates were thrown wide open and carriages and foot traffic entered and left at a great pace, as men did business with the grand clan. The gates were shut up, and guards stood about the outside, with closed faces studying the crowd. There was a hint of fear in them, despite their impassivity.

Sudden misfortune could strike anyone. Even those far wealthier than they.

Damn that man.

Suggesting he would _ever_ beat his Lizzy. Damn him. He would never do anything to hurt her. If Mr. Roberts had been here, he could have trusted Elizabeth's diagnosis and care to a reliable gentleman. His friend had his offices in the Darcy's palace, along with hundreds of other men. And like many of them, he was headed north. Like Lizzy wanted them to go.

Lizzy stared with a strange expression at the coat of arms of the Darcy family. A lion with its teeth tearing the neck of a dragon, its forelegs ripping the wings apart.

Mr. Bennet touched Lizzy's shoulder, and he brought them both to sit on one of the benches facing a fountain with a massive bronze statue of a Darcy ancestor in the middle of it, sitting tall upon his horse and holding a gleaming sword out towards the sun.

Lizzy quirked a smile. "Mr. Bennet, have you considered the use of the paddle to discipline your—"

He pushed her and smiled.

"She is wild, and clearly plans to cavort with a nameless man, no family and—"

"Lizzy."

"I have not yet explained the part about how you shall be left with child and worthless swain, and—"

"I am quite sure any nameless swain _you_ find will have some worthy virtue."

"Papa!"

He took her hand. She squeezed his back.

"Thank you for not simply believing _that man_ that I am delusional."

"I am quite sure you are" — Elizabeth exclaimed in protest, but there was a tone of amusement also — "but he is barely a physician."

The carriages and foot traffic rushed behind them. The leaves of the tropical plants in the still green garden, kept flowering by the potentia of the Darcy houses, waved in front of them. Behind stood the liveried men of house Darcy standing with hard faces.

"What next? Will we go north? Papa, he is suffering. I must help him. Delay… things will go amiss."

"I must have you see another physician. Someone who will seriously examine you, and with the skill to understand the examination. If only Mr. Roberts was here."

Lizzy rolled her eyes. Though he could tell she was unsettled. She frowned, studying the Darcy crest.

"None of that!" Mr. Bennet could not take his daughter's worried look. "I will take you north. So that I can prove you wrong. And we will drag a platoon of redcoats along for the pointless trip."

"I don't want to see a doctor. I'm scared. It feels wrong. We should go now. Hire someone to protect us. He is hurting, Papa, he still is hurting."

"Tomorrow we will see the man Mr. Roberts recommended. He shall have _some_ skill."

"Papa, please. Can we just go?"

"Lizzy, you are convinced you have some impossible knowledge — but admit that what we know of potentia suggests you are wrong. Our science says it is impossible—"

"There are stories! Like Odysseus and Penelope or…or Robin Hood and Maid Marian."

"You _know_ those are fictions."

"No! You told me about that man who found the ruins of Troy! Perhaps other parts of the story are true."

"Lizzy. We are reasonable persons, in an enlightened age. We know more than they did in the past."

Elizabeth studied the ground. Her eyes drifted back to the hulking building in front of them. Eight stories in height, clad in marble and rusticated stone, with the glass of the tall windows cast in one massive piece with the use of clever workings, rather than mullioned.

"Promise me you will take us north? No matter what the doctor says?"

Mr. Bennet kissed his daughter on the hair.

Mr. Kuipers was Dutch, with that funny nasal accent and the pointed beards popular from portraits of Rembrandt's time. Mr. Bennet had been to Amsterdam twice, before it fell to the French during the war, and so he knew that such beards had fallen out of style there as well. The doctor's choice of beard was an affectation.

He actually examined Lizzy. Mr. Kuipers called upon a variety of sophisticated workings, many of which Mr. Bennet had only read slight references to, and some of which he knew nothing about despite his vast readings.

The entire time Mr. Kuipers kept a somber face as he carefully wrote down notes in an illegible shorthand after he ended each working.

Lizzy tapped her feet in impatience. Mr. Bennet saw that she wanted the exam to end, so they could immediately be off to rescue her imaginary friend.

It did not sit right with him. Mr. Bennet did not want to spend hundreds of pounds to hire a battle mage to protect them as they wandered around the north of England for two months, all to indulge Lizzy's whimsical fancy. Northern England was unsettled now. The Darcys were the great power in the middle of the country, and they would look with disfavor upon strange gentry wandering their lands for a strange purpose while they still sought their missing heir.

He would, if he believed it would help Lizzy, he would. But only if he could end this strange delusion by heading north.

At last Mr. Kuipers stood from his chair and smiled. "Miss Elizabeth, you have been a fine patient. Will you wait here while I discuss matters with your father?"

"You can tell me anything!" Lizzy stamped impatiently.

"That is a matter for your father's choice. You are a very clever girl — you must accept that I will not treat _you_ so different. Many parents do not wish their children to know."

"I am not a child!" Lizzy blushed, knowing that fifteen or not, _that_ was what children always said.

"Lizzy will figure out anything you say." Mr. Bennet smiled at his daughter.

"She will figure it out after I tell you alone." Mr. Kuipers pointed at several books on the table in his examination room. "Miss Elizabeth, look around. You may find the displays in that book of interest."

They shuffled across a hallway from Mr. Kuipers's examination room into his office. A working came into function with the closing of the door to prevent eavesdropping. Mr. Bennet smiled to himself; Lizzy would still make some attempt.

Mr. Kuipers's desk was piled with stacks of books and folders filled with papers. Nearly half the books were in his own language, but French, English, Latin and German tomes made the majority. The bookshelves bowed under the weight upon them. This was not like the office of a solicitor, who had the books behind him in a perfect order simply to prove he could purchase an expensive set of books out of his excessive fees. These books were well used and well fingered. The feel of preservative workings buzzed from them, comforting Mr. Bennet. Nothing really bad ever happened while surrounded by books.

Lizzy, gripping her ears and screaming. In his book room.

"Dark times, Mr. Bennet. Dark times indeed." Mr. Kuipers sat behind his desk after Mr. Bennet had taken a well-padded armchair. "Times such as these prey upon the minds of the young."

"What has this to do with my daughter?"

"There are stories of darkness, which travel around, seeking ears."

Mr. Bennet resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Yes," the rotund professional gentleman continued in his Dutch twang. "The risings of the French against their rightful masters. Their conquest of my own land and remaking of our antique institutions into their rebellious image. The madness of the king. And just at this time, as if to make a summation of everything, the disappearance of that great scion of proudest nobility, the Darcy heir."

"Deuced shame all of that." _My daughter, you fool. I am concerned for_ her. "You think Lizzy was inspired by the disappearance of the Darcy lad to construct such a story of a suddenly imprisoned man?"

"I assure you it was an unconscious matter. She believes what she says. When did she learn of that tale? Was it before or after her delusion?"

"She fell into pain and spasms, and when she awoke, the first thing she did was to read my letter from our mutual friend, Mr. Roberts, detailing this story."

"I see."

"I had the same suspicion as you."

Mr. Kuipers nodded.

"You found nothing to confirm Lizzy's claim of a connection when you examined her."

"Miss Elizabeth's mind is roiled, and deeply impacted. There are fluxes of potentia sweeping through. There is much in her mind that _is_ diseased — but a _connection_ to a distant man who is imprisoned and tortured? There is no connection. Of course not. Such things are not possible. But you already knew that."

"I did."

"Potentia does not flow in that manner. Such stories of connections between a prince and princess — romantic stories — they were popular in the darker ages, after the fall of the Romans, when religion dominated the use of potentia, and the vulgar Saxon term was favored even by the nobles: Magic. Such stories, the young adore them. Even those which end in horror, such as the connection upon first sight betwixt Romeo and Juliet in Shakespeare's play. Sensitive and romantic youths, especially, I fear young women, are prone to believe such stories."

"Lizzy is sensible."

"She believes stories too. Does she not? We are gentlemen of science. We know better. You and I. We know only that which we can perceive with our six senses exists."

"She is my favorite. Do not torment me — what can I do?"

"I… Mr. Bennet, I have no promises for you. The mind is delicate and strange. And the ways potentia can interfere with its functioning are hardly known."

"I have not paid your exorbitant fee to hear _that_."

"You will not like what I must beg you to do. I am apprehensive the delusion will become permanent."

The snake in Mr. Bennet's gut squeezed tighter, again. He wanted to vomit in fear.

"She cannot go on this trip to the north you promised her."

"Why not — she will panic. She will be desperate to help him. She only is calm because she believes we will go."

"It will cause the delusion to take root. She must be treated immediately, bled of magic within the hour, and then bled several times weekly until the delusions cease. That is the only way. Her roiled potentia feeds this notion, if we drain it away, the strange sensation of being attached to another will fade, and her normal functioning will return. So I pray at least."

"You _pray_! You tell me to have my daughter bled, at least twice a week, for devil knows how long, and you cannot even promise me that she will recover."

"I am sorry." Mr. Kuipers looked down, his avoidant gaze letting Mr. Bennet feel sick with worry in something more like privacy. "Mayhap she would recover with your plan. Take her to the North, take her to see where her compulsion leads, and perhaps she will recover when she sees it leads to nowhere. The odds however are better with my medical and scientific approach."

"Lizzy is a sensible girl. When she sees she cannot find the man, she will realize he does not exist. She will learn to ignore whatever _weird_ sensation she has."

"Mr. Bennet, you have not read greatly about illnesses of the mind, have you?" Mr. Kuipers smiled coldly. "You are a deeply learned man. But you are here with me because you lack knowledge in this area."

Mr. Bennet stared at a pencil sketch of the bourse in Amsterdam which hung behind the man's desk. Bookshelves packed with thick leather-bound books, with gold embossed covers and finely detailed lettering on the spines. He never could resist the urge to just grab one and pop it open. The one addiction he'd permitted himself. Lizzy could not resist such books either.

"Mr. Bennet…it is difficult. The most difficult matter a parent can experience is to see their child deeply ill."

"She is a sensible girl."

"When a person feels something to be true, their reason becomes a slave of the delusion. There are men who must wash their hands a thousand times in a day to feel at peace. There are men who must wake fifteen times during the night to ensure their bolts are fastened and their shutters flattened. There are those who cannot cease to swear, no matter the company. This occurs among both the distinguished and the lesser — His Majesty need not be mentioned. Think of Doctor Johnson. Though a commoner, he was still one the highest lights the civilization of this isle has produced in the century past. The codifier of English, the producer of your dictionary, the greatest literary critic of the age, and the greatest essayist. Yet he needed to touch every door or fence post he passed as he walked, and he had to make an elaborate set of gesticulations before he could cross the threshold of his apartments."

Mr. Bennet groaned. "I must take her north. I promised her."

"It will embed the delusion so deeply it will never be lifted. The best hope for her cure is _now_. It still is little more than a sensation, and without the potentia feeding it, the sensation will go away. If you go to the north, she will lead you from place to place, never finding anyone. But in each place she will swear he _had_ been there. Perhaps in this cave, or that house, or at the bottom of that well. And they only moved him, probably because _they_ sensed her coming. So, you must chase _them_ further. And then when you have enough of the game, and drag her home, she will run away to hunt again for _them_."

"I have bound her not to."

"Then she will learn how to abjure the family name, because she feels she _must_ find him. Indulge this, and your daughter will eventually be lost to you, and perhaps die in a young unmarked grave in Scotland, after some highland bravo has had his way with her. That is what you fear? And rightly so. I fear for your daughter as well. When she is full grown she will be of great beauty and cleverness, but those of the greatest value often have the most frailty."

Mr. Bennet stared blankly at the Dutchman, his eyes not seeing the shelves lined with books, or the window out onto the hazy London street. He saw his beautiful child, his beloved Lizzy, dead. Still a girl, but dead. Killed by an illness of her mind.

"You must make your decision."

Mr. Bennet nodded. But he did not need time to make the decision. He loved his daughter too much to risk her wellbeing. But he needed time to fortify himself. In her current mood Lizzy would resist, and he would need to help the doctor restrain her so that she could be safely bled.

She might never forgive him.

 **AN: I've put this in Kindle Unlimited, so I can't post the whole thing until I pull it out, which will be in about a year. But if you have a subscription or want to buy, the whole thing is available on Amazon already. However, I do have good news: At last, on February 16th, Colonel Darcy's Kindle Unlimited enrollment period will end, and I should within a day or two of that start regularly posting chapters of it here. So if you want to read it as it comes out, follow _that_ story.**

 **There will be two more sections posted here over the next few days.**


	3. Chapter 3

Five years later, Peaks District, England

Warm, humid summer air blew over Elizabeth Bennet like a moist blanket. A bird trilled in the background. A herd of cows munched upon the grass a hundred yards away. A pair of butterflies flapped their wings and lazily floated from dandelion to dandelion.

Elizabeth sunk deep into her magical trance. All verbal thought was occluded and each sense was alert to the slightest hint of noise, movement, a gentleman sneaking up behind her.

She was near _him_.

After so many years. The bond between them burned powerful.

In her dreams she became him: A man robbed of all senses except the unending pain as they pulled and pulled his magic away from him.

He was real.

Papa had not believed her. He hadn't helped. No one had helped. But she was still here. She would rescue him at last.

It had taken so long because of Papa. He had bound her so that she could not go north to seek him _alone_. Papa had half forgotten that promise, and Elizabeth had never reminded him. At last she convinced him to let her go to the North with her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner, even though they were not gentry, and had no potentia.

Elizabeth desperately hoped no sign of her presence was detectable. The animals ignored her. A scarlet robin with a swelling chest hopped by, pecking in the tall waving grass for seeds. She could not be sensed by brute beasts. It was gentlemen she worried about.

The sky was blue and only one cloud sat in it. At first the cloud had the shape of Spain. Now it looked like Guy Fawkes.

So close. Where was he? She _felt_ him.

It had been so hard to get to this spot in the Peak District.

Some voice that sounded like Papa's laughed that her entire life had been in service to a delusion. All her studies, all her worries, all her arguments with Papa. So she could be here.

Now she could not find him.

Elizabeth's reason was frightened of detection. There should be a guard. She must be cautious. She had learnt everything she could about how to use magic to fight like a man. It was not much. No man, not even her father, would willingly permit a gentlewoman to learn such things.

Could she be seen?

She had constantly practiced hiding her person and her magic. She had hidden from her father. She had hidden from her friends. She had hidden from the guards around several palaces in London once when she visited her aunt and uncle. Was it enough?

It needed to be enough.

Elizabeth read the books she could find, and she had imagined ways she might be seen, and ways to hide herself from them.

She would not be able to fight directly.

Beneath. He was beneath her.

With understanding, she relaxed. The sick fear that had begun to grow believing she had made a terrible, terrible mistake dissipated.

She had expected some building. A dark gothic manor. A tower habitation of a gentleman who delved deep into the dark arts and made barter with demons. An aged castle where Papists had tortured the martyrs in the days of Bloody Mary, where the magic of the building had been twisted such that the sound of their screams yet echoed in the rafters.

It was impossible to dig straight down to where he was. There must be an entrance, and she needed to break through its defenses and sneak in.

A small well sat forty yards away. Elizabeth had ignored it before.

There was a nearby stream and no nearby village. Why would a well be dug here? There was no reason. The grasses had been allowed to grow up around the well, showing that the ground round about the well was not frequently trampled upon, but all the vegetation had been crudely hacked away around the crank to lower the bucket into the water.

It was a perfect picture of a pretty country well, with grey stones for the wall and a steepled brown wooden roof, and a big bucket sitting on the wall. Not the slightest hint of decay, as though the well had been made and painted the previous day, instead of sitting in the sun and rain for long enough for the grasses to grow up around it.

Only magic could preserve a structure like that. No gentleman would waste his magic upon a simple well.

A few curls blew out of Elizabeth's hair and flopped in front of her eyes. With an absent hand she brushed them back. Elizabeth stepped over the grass towards the well with a frown. Several times she cracked a twig, but no sound came due to the magic she'd woven around herself.

The well became more curious as she approached close and she felt the spell around it. It was complex and it wanted to hide itself from her.

Hmmmm.

She could see the spell perfectly. The spell did not hide from her, but she could _feel_ the working, as intimately as if it were her own. And as she understood invisibility workings, she could see several ways that the well could be discovered, but she knew that it should not have been visible to her naked eye.

Elizabeth had never knowingly been able to examine the invisibility working of a skilled gentleman — she believed the man who had put this in place had been skilled. It made her smile with a grin at her own skill. If this was the best they could do, they could not find _her_ through her working.

But why could she see through the invisibility?

Oh! The power in the spell was almost the same as her own. She knew she could manipulate and modify it at will. She reached out a tendril of her own power to touch the magic forming shaped to hide the well from human eyes. The power within the well responded to her.

Such a rich flood of power. A massive reservoir, alive, as though all the magic that had been bled from her during the year Papa believed her to be delusional had been stored and dumped into the reservoir of this well.

 _His_ power. It must be his magic. She'd always known they drained him endlessly, probably to keep him weak so they could keep him in their prison.

 _This_ was the proof. She had _never_ been delusional. Elizabeth almost jumped in glee.

Craaaack.

Elizabeth spun around. Her heart pounded in terror. For a moment she was entirely unable to identify the sound.

Then she laughed quietly. A tree had been felled in the woods a mile north of her. It had only sounded so loud because she'd heightened all her senses.

Deep breaths.

 _Deep breaths. Calm yourself_.

When Elizabeth looked at the well again the dull grey rocks seemed menacing and threatening. What subtle trap was here? Her heart pounded wildly.

Underneath her boots the ground was soft. Her shoes sank deeply into the springy grass. If she was killed, no one would ever rescue him. Sweat poured down her armpits. A sickening pulse throbbed in her stomach.

She could back away and leave and come back another day, another year. When she was ready.

Probably the entry to his dungeon was in the well. The dungeon where he'd been trapped without ability to ever see, with the whirring of the magical construct that pulled away his magical power the only object he could hear.

She had to do this.

Today, after so much time, it was the time to rescue him. That intuition inside her that had drawn her this far told her she should not hesitate.

This might be the only opportunity. It had not been easy to convince her Uncle and Aunt Gardiner to take her to vacation with them in the Peaks. It had been harder to convince her father to let her travel with them. While Papa liked his wife's half-brother a great deal, Mr. Gardiner's mother was not a gentlewoman, so he had no _potentia_ and he could not provide effective oversight and protection for an active young gentlewoman of twenty.

Elizabeth swallowed. Dry mouth. A painful lump in her throat.

She could do this. She must do this.

When she rescued _him_ he would be so grateful. And when she returned to Longbourn, Papa would be forced to admit she had never been delusional.

 _Be careful_.

Elizabeth needed to see the trap before it struck her, so she could figure out how to avoid it. She _had_ broken into Papa's desk many times to learn how to get through at least some of the tools gentlemen could use to stop intruders.

Her feet refused to walk the rest of the way to the well.

There was something there, around the well, something she could not see. It would kill her.

The bond was strong and full of strength. He was in pain. He had always been in pain.

He _knew_ she was near. He would know if she left.

She could not bear to be such a coward in his eyes. And, more importantly, he needed to be rescued. The intuitive sense in her swore she would succeed if she acted now. Elizabeth swallowed and carefully walked forward, her senses alert. Her eyes wildly spasmed every direction, looking for some hint of the mystical trap that must be near.

When she stepped close to the well, Elizabeth studied it for a trap.

Traps must be hidden, like a person. She would have been able to see this well, even had the invisibility about it not been powered by _his_ magic. She looked carefully, studying for traces, whispering spells to expand the range of her eyes, so that she could see things no human could see without magic.

She saw nothing. She must be missing something obvious. She should leave. Come back with a man to help her.

The warm breeze blew through her sweat-soaked dress, making her shiver.

Elizabeth reached forward and grabbed the handle of the crank that pulled the bucket up.

Pain. Lightning. Burning.

Red and white sparks covered her vision.

Elizabeth lay next to the well as her body spasmed with shocks before she regained enough awareness to scuttle further away from the well. She sobbed with the pain in her hand. Her being felt wrong. She refused to open her eyes. There was a sharp burnt smell, like pork but sweeter. Sick. It must be her hand.

She should not be alive.

Nothing could be in her mind but the pain. She refused to look at it to see how badly mangled her limb was.

Elizabeth panted desperately with shallow breaths.

She could not huddle in the dewy grass and rock herself in pain. She had to rescue him. No one else would. Activating the trap probably alerted the gentleman who had constructed the well that it had been tampered with.

Tears leaked out of Elizabeth's eyes, next time she tried anything, she would make another mistake and die.

Her hand hurt.

Hurt. Hurt.

Elizabeth put her attention on him and the bond. She forced herself to breathe deeply. She could scream later. She still needed to rescue him. Elizabeth wriggled the fingers of her right hand but felt nothing.

She looked hesitantly, half fearing she would find a burnt stump. There was a deep blackened burn through her palm, and Elizabeth whimpered and flinched away from the sight, as the vision made the feeling of pain shoot up her arm again. It had burned through the tendons of her palm, but there was no blood as the gaping wound had been seared shut.

If there was magic left in the injury, she might never heal. Perhaps it would be a progressive curse that would relentlessly eat its way through her magical pathways until it reached her heart and made her die.

Not now. If only she could rescue him first.

He worried.

The bond let her feel that. A force flowed from him. She'd always wanted to feel some of his pain so that he might hurt less. He drew her pain into him, and then, as they were bound through their magic and souls, he could use her magic as easily as she could use his. He placed a powerful numbing spell upon her hand.

Her hand no longer hurt. There was just the funny tingle of unfeeling. The numbness, and the sense of her hand as a limp thing which she must be careful with, otherwise she might cause terrible damage and not feel the pain.

Elizabeth laughed with a lunatic edge at how she'd not thought to use a numbing spell before. The warm wind swept over her cheeks, and her beating heart slowed to just a rapid patter from its terrified gallop.

He was helping her.

This crazed scheme would work. She would rescue him. She felt that certainty of success stronger than ever. It was different than the heady overconfidence she'd felt with the first rush of power. She had survived this first mistake. She would survive any others.

This was meant to be. Their souls were connected, and they were fated to aid one another.

Elizabeth's heart stopped pounding completely. Deep in her a conviction spoke: They would succeed, together.

Using all of the power at her disposal she enhanced her sight so that she could see into the magic nature of things. First she looked at her hand to see if there was a curse burnt into the scar, still eating away into her.

There was a foreign magic there. It was _his_ magic.

She understood then. Just as the man used _his_ magic to power the invisibility spell, he also had used it to power the curse upon the well. The gentleman who had built this used his own power to spark the curse, but most of the force came from _him_. The power being drawn out came from the well. It came from _him._ His power could no more hurt her than her own power could.

The sense of destiny was stronger than ever.

Her hand would heal quickly due to the flows of potentia in her body. But she would still need to see a physician, to have the healing shaped into the right course to completely repair the tendons. Under the care of a skilled physician, the flows of magic would allow a gentleman to regrow even a destroyed limb over a period of less than a year.

Elizabeth instinctively reached to take the handle again. This time with her left hand. The trap had been triggered. Now it would be safe to touch. Elizabeth drew back before her hand touched the gleaming brown wood. What if there was some other trap she could not see yet and which did not depend on using the pool of power in the reservoir?

The wind blew over her, and this time she shivered. A bead of sweat fell over her eyes. The frantic panic built again.

 _Act_. She had to act, act, _act_.

 _Now_.

Do something.

The confidence was gone. She couldn't trust her feeling that everything would be well. She needed a plan. A mistake would kill not only her — Elizabeth was willing to die — a mistake would trap _him_ forever.

Be _clever._ Papa always said she was as clever as a man. _Be clever_.

No clever thought.

Too scared. She'd never be able to think with this fear. She would stand frantic, feeling nervous spasms like her mother, until she was found and killed. Then the man would secure his prisoner more permanently.

Acting was almost always better than staring helplessly. Elizabeth knew that. She wouldn't touch it again, but could she do something to disrupt any possible trap?

A voice whispered to her. She thought it was his. It sounded through their mystical connection. _Use my power_.

Immediately Elizabeth acted, following the first idea sparked by that. She refused to think long enough to become paralyzed by panic once more.

Elizabeth used _his_ power.

She reached into the well with her will and shaped the magical power stored within into a fireball.

 _BOOM!_

Blindness, deafness, and pain.

When the explosion ended the afterimage of the light stopped her from seeing anything. Her face was raw and burnt, and when she touched her head her hair was missing and had been burnt away.

The ringing in her ears made it impossible to hear anything, but the light in front of her eyes slowly faded. From the edge of her eyes she could see around the giant afterimage of the flame. The entrance to the well was completely missing.

Pain came from her face and her scalp, though it was not nearly as bad as when her hand had been mutilated. This time Elizabeth was not a fool, and she cast a numbing spell upon herself immediately.

She couldn't feel his pain.

 _No_!

Had her explosion spread and killed him?

She could feel their bond. He was unconscious, but no longer in pain. The pull on his magic had ceased. He was not seriously injured. She did not understand, but she felt.

Power flooded Elizabeth. The magic-infused water in the well had been vaporized and all of the potentia flowed towards its natural owner: Elizabeth.

The well's wall and roof were gone. There was only a steaming blackened hole in the ground, with streaks of black stains in the ground flowing from it. Elizabeth realized that she had used some instinct she did not know she possessed to deflect several large stones that had flown from the explosion. They had fallen near her, while other stones had gone dozens of yards.

No. It hadn't been her instinct. She recalled a fraction of an instant when somehow _he'd_ controlled her power, and in so doing he saved her life.

Those stones would have killed her. Twice today nearly died.

With this influx of magic the ringing in her ears was healing already.

She glowed with power, impossible to hide. Despite all her efforts to create invisibility, she was a vast torch to anyone with the slightest talent at mage sight.

Elizabeth activated her own mage sight. She could see through the tunnel, she could seemingly see through the ground, into the distant layers of the earth where the solid ground melted under its own weight and turned to liquid. She could see everything. She was filled with power. She could see up. Elizabeth had always known the stars continued to be there in the day, invisible in the glare of the sun.

She saw them bright as night in the day glare of the sun. She saw the rings around Saturn.

A tunnel from the well's remains led to where his body lay, collapsed on the floor of a dome, like a dropped sack of potatoes. She needed to go to him. Then she would touch him. She needed to touch him.

Elizabeth was unsteady on her feet. She tripped when she stood. The numbing spell meant she felt nothing from the raw and red skin of her face and the burns all along her arms. A cut in her forehead bled dripping blood over her eyes.

Elizabeth laughed.

Her power was so great. She saw every defense of the tunnel; she had broken them all.

Elizabeth waveringly crawled towards the blackened hole, too shaken to stand again, using only the three undamaged limbs, and remembering to hold the unfeeling cursed hand up, so she did not put weight on it. But before her eyes she could see the blackened dead skin being replaced by fresh pink skin at a visible rate as the power flooded her, seeking any useful outlet.

She reached the pit of the well. The interior was infused with his power. The power flowed towards her. Elizabeth felt like the time she'd eaten far, far too much pudding at a Christmas feast and then made herself finish one last slice of cherry pie. The entrance to the tunnel stood at the bottom of the well. There was a little puddle of water left, but most of the steam had dissipated. The walls glowed red from the heat.

Elizabeth hardened her skin against that. She hardened her skin against everything. A cannon could strike her now, a full blast of grapeshot. No harm. She felt elated from the potency she commanded.

Hahaha. She had done it!

Elizabeth jumped into the hole. Her enchanted body barely felt the impact on the ground.

The tunnel was an open dark hole. Elizabeth did not hesitate. She crouched to walk along it, the top of her head where the hair had burnt off scraping against the roof. She hurried forward, using a spell to create light. At first the spell blinded her. The magic ball had glowed brighter than the sun, and she did not have delicate enough control over such a mighty flow to reduce its strength.

Instead Elizabeth cast a spell to extinguish light, and then she strengthened the light spell just a little so it would overpower the darkness spell. This spell light was only a little too bright.

The wooden supports had been burnt horribly and a few were completely turned to ash. The tunnel was rickety and could collapse at any moment.

As she walked, the subterranean passage extended on and on.

Elizabeth's heart beat hard, and she shook with each step.

Less than fifty yards in reality.

At _last_.

Her light entered a large room, with a domed roof that was lined with carved walls bearing terrible symbols. Pentagrams were painted into the floor with a deep red ink that stories claimed were made with human blood. The air was heavy with the telltale scent of sulfur released by demons when they did not hide in a human host. His power must have been collected to feed a demon.

Elizabeth had never seen a naked man before.

He was glorious. She had gotten tingles from seeing through magical sight the difference in the flows around the loins between a man and a woman. She knew what the male member of an animal looked like. But the sight of his flaccid… thing… lying along his thigh.

He was lit by the ball of white light she'd cast to float in front of her.

Blood seeped from his hands and feet, and out his nose. His face looked as though it had been mutilated. A large bruise stood on his forehead, and his head was blistered from the heat of the spell which had broken him free. All of his hair was burnt away like her own.

Elizabeth moaned in sympathetic pain. She needed to care for him, until he was completely better, and always happy forever and ever.

Above him stood the mechanism to which he'd been tied before. The machine was a combination of a crucifix and a chair. Demonic runes were carved deep into the iron and wood. The wood had not been burnt entirely by the power of the fireball. Simply seeing it made Elizabeth feel greasy and as though she ought to wash.

A mask hung from the machine's remains, which would have covered his face and eyes. Now only a burnt rag. There were four sets of leather straps and some metallic thing that she knew had been stabbed into his hands and feet. The runes upon them had been completely burnt away.

Elizabeth let out a breath and looked back at him. He breathed easily. But he'd been so hurt by them. He was very tall, but now more like a skeleton than a man. He'd probably only been given enough sustenance to barely survive, and with all the magic pulled from him for so many years his body had deteriorated greatly.

Despite the wounds and the thinness, and the remains of his beard, Elizabeth had never imagined she could be so moved by seeing a man. He was perfect.

She had found him and rescued him.

Yes! She had succeeded!

Elizabeth jumped from where she had squatted in the tunnel at the entrance to the domed room where he was held. She needed to touch him and hold him, and prove to herself that he really was real. She'd quickly drag him out through the tunnel, and they would flee before his watching enemy could return.

 _Crack_!

Her head struck against the weakened support post above her knocking it out of place.

The roof collapsed on top of her.

Her body was hardened and shielded. But suddenly Elizabeth could not expand her chest to breath. She was trapped. No breath. No air. Suffocation. Dying within minutes.

In an explosion of panic, she pushed the magic in her out to explode the stones atop of her away. She was propelled by her magic forward, and behind her, with a long low rumble the entire line of the tunnel collapsed.


	4. Chapter 4

Elizabeth curled up in a ball, against the rubble of the collapsed tunnel. Her heart raced and she shivered. She had used too much power upon the walls. Now their escape was gone.

Think.

Fast.

Elizabeth needed to get them out quickly — how could she tunnel to the surface? Gentlemen occasionally rapidly tunneled through the ground to surprise their enemies in battle. So she must be able to do it now.

How?

Elizabeth's thoughts skittered. Her dress was torn with the bottom quarter gone and the rest dusty and ripped. Jane would be able to fix such a problem with a wave of her hands.

Faith! Her dress mattered not at all!

Think. How to tunnel to the surface?

Elizabeth brought in deep long breaths. Panic would not help. She was fated to rescue this man, and to care for him. Her intuition still told her they would succeed.

She could use magical pressure to force her way through the dirt and rocks, compacting them to make way for her as she rose. She had enough power in her that it might work, but it would be incredibly inefficient. That was not how a trained gentleman would act during a battle, but she must do what she could.

The man groaned. He groaned.

Elizabeth's eyes shot to his form.

She needed to take care of him. Digging through the earth to get to the surface must wait.

His body looked terrible. Burns across his face, his giant scraggly beard had been ripped from half his face. Dried blood matted his chin and had run down his chest in a rivulet that crustily stained his skin. Blood trickled from his hands. But the skin around his eyes was untouched. He had beautiful eyelashes and thick eyebrows.

She needed to wrap his bleeding hands and do something to stop the pain he would feel once he awoke. Elizabeth tried to stand, but her legs were shaky.

She crawled to him. The skin and muscles of her injured hand had completely closed and reformed in a matter of twenty minutes. Almost miraculous.

But no miracle had happened: The tendons of her right hand had not healed, and she could not open or close it.

So much power flowed in her. Once they escaped, the glow of their magic would lead their enemy inevitably to any hiding place.

Later. Panic and solve that later.

She needed to care for him. She sat next to him. He was so injured.

First, tear a strip from her dress. She could not use the working to fully clean her dress. But she knew a working that would remove all the debris from the fabric, including the blue dye that colored the thin cotton. She would have a bleached white bandage.

Elizabeth instinctively grabbed her dress to tear with her right hand, but the fingers barely twitched. A scary strange sensation. This was no permanent injury, but the wrong feeling of her hand not responding to her mind's commands unsettled her.

He groaned once more. His eyes snapped open.

They bored into her. Elizabeth's entire life had pointed towards this moment. She was pulled to touch him, to place her uninjured left palm against the skin of his uninjured cheek.

She did.

The world fell into place with a thud. It was like the dam of the stream to a watermill had been opened from a trickle to a flood, allowing the wheel to run at its full speed. Something that had not been there before was now present.

The two of them were almost one person. Her hand stayed against his cheek, and the magic she'd pulled from the well flowed into him, filling him up. It was mixed with her own essence, mixing them together. They were mixing together.

Her hand on his cheek, and the veins of magic in his face glowed as the rush of power overfilled her and flooded into him. Yet they were both now overfull, for he could no more support the vast stored power than she could.

His eyes held her, not speaking. His eyes swallowed her, she could see that his soul was touched as hers was.

It was like what Jane described when Elizabeth begged her to explain the conjugal act after she married Mr. Bingley. A mixing of essences. Deep. This was deep. Elizabeth cried, tears flowing down her face. She was not unhappy, nor happy. The magic was beyond emotion.

Magic coursed out her hands and into him. He sighed, both in relief and pain, and she placed her other hand over his naked chest. It glowed as well, as did his ribs and heart.

Slowly the glow faded as the imbalance of magic in the two was redressed. Elizabeth knew something had changed. The connection between the two was more than it had been before. She was changed as well as he.

Touch mattered.

He opened his lips. "Thank you."

The words were barely sounded, and his voice was rough, harsh, and unpracticed. He had not spoken for more than five years.

Startled, Elizabeth pulled away her hands in embarrassment. But the mixing of their essences, of their inner power, that did not cease. They were tightly bound together. She placed her hands back.

She had found him. At last she had found him.

He whispered, in a crusty voice, after a long time, "Come. You would come. Always I knew. You."

"Sooner. I should have come sooner — my father bound me. We are trapped. I collapsed the roof. I must find some plan. You are injured—"

He stroked her cheek. His arm shook. It strained as he lifted it. Elizabeth took his hand and held the palm against her cheek. The blood from where he still bled smeared onto her cheeks.

"Do not…" The flesh around his lips was cracked and burnt. He smiled. "You have come. Other matters will resolve themselves."

"I do not know why I am crying. I am happy. I cannot stop. I have never cried like this."

He smiled at her. His body was beginning to heal, as the magic flowed through him. The red burn on his face faded into a healthy tan, and the ripped skin on his face closed as the skin on her hand had.

"No time." The desperation built in Elizabeth again. That premonition which had led her here came again, saying that speed was needed. "I must pull us both up to the surface."

Filled with a new strength, she stood and tried to help him to his feet. But he could not stand. His muscles were entirely atrophied, and when he tried to push himself up with his arm, the limb collapsed beneath him, and he cried out in pain.

"Oh! Do not try." Elizabeth took a deep breath. "You are yet under my care. I can do everything."

He relaxed and stopped struggling to stand. He said in his raw whisper — but it was smoother than his first words — "I shall never mind your help. I have not moved for many years, and all my potentia was bled from me. Though I ought have been, I was not cognizant that I would be so weak, so helpless — when you triggered that trap. That was a torture — fear you would die."

Elizabeth shaped a working, binding it so that any excess power would bleed off into the air. She had learned that lesson now. In response to her will, his body rose in a heap from the floor. There was no resistance from him to her working. She could levitate him as easily as she could levitate herself, for their magic and their souls were connected, as though they were one person.

Something was wrong. There was resistance, not from him, but from the very dome they were trapped within. A force pressed against her magic, like the wardings in the square mile of the City of London that prevented the use of great magics against the will of the merchants who dominated the city.

It was only because she could work upon his body as easily as her own that she could effortlessly use the levitation working.

She needed to force her way through the rocks that had collapsed the entrance. She could not let this warding stop her.

Elizabeth's legs were only half jellied now, and she drunkenly stumbled to the pile of rocks that had fallen in, completely blocking the entrance. He floated behind her and Elizabeth tried to use her magic to pull the rocks into the room to create a space so she could enter into the collapsed tunnel. The warding would not be there, and she could then use magic to explosively force them to the surface.

Nothing happened.

She felt the working, but her desired action required too much concentrated power. There was a block, and her power could not coalesce.

Hurry.

The intuition deep within spoke: Hurry!

She could not fail when so close. He was helpless, and she needed to save him. She would have no hope to defeat such a man as would come.

Elizabeth gathered all of the force in her will, and she struck the rocks, to smash them aside.

Nothing happened.

Elizabeth desperately gathered her magic once more, trying to use everything in her being, all of the massive flowing power, hoping to overpower the wardings, even though she knew that would not work, as they were anchored into a ley line. She had no hope to dig the rocks away by hand in time.

A shaky hand touched her shoulder from behind, and he used his will to harmlessly disperse her effort to gather her power.

"Such will not succeed," he croaked.

"We must. We are trapped, like mice. He comes!"

Elizabeth's shaky legs made her sit again. She felt exhausted and full of sweat, and by some mutual use of will to control the levitation, he dropped next to her.

She looked him in the eyes. "I feel it. He comes fast."

"I believe you."

What to do? What to do?

When she tried to force her way through it, she felt that the ward covered the entire area of this room. Why could the runes that focused it not have been burnt away by the fireball?

The man who built this prison must not have been so confident that he could control his prisoner by draining him. Even had he maintained sufficient power to use a working, he still could not have escaped due to the warding.

He touched her cheek again, and everything felt right somehow, even though Elizabeth cried in frustration.

He was as unembarrassed as Adam with Eve by his nakedness. There was no fear in his words. "I never felt so scared, so pained as when you tripped the trap. I trust you. Even though we have never spoken in advance of today, we have a bond tighter than any siblings." He smiled at the rubble in front of the collapsed tunnel. "I trust you, and we shall escape."

She looked into his compelling eyes, and the certainty of their escape remained, along with the need to hurry. And as he spoke, she felt a release. This was not solely her burden. She was not alone.

She cried, now safe to say it aloud. "If only I had been less impetuous. I should not have collapsed the tunnel. I was stupid. I knew better — I panicked, and—"

"Shhhhh." He smiled.

She smiled back at him. The anxiety in her stomach was no match for his smile. "How can you be so calm, so unscared?" The hand she had held against her cheek before was completely healed, with just a mark for the scar. The other one still bled, and Elizabeth took that hand in her hand, and pressed his palm against her cheek. She felt his blood smear again against her face. And she felt the magic flow between them. The magic of their impossible bond — of the proof that they were connected, that their souls belonged next to each other, filled her.

"I always felt you. I have had no other sensation beyond pain but our bond to attend to. I know you in a deeper way than I know myself. Now that we are together, anything is possible."

He tried to draw in his magic for a minor working that would not be blocked by the wardings upon the chamber. She felt his effort through their connection. But while his core continued to produce magic, the gateways which allowed a gentleman to shape his potentia were as atrophied as his muscles.

The power spasmed away, leaving pain. He hurt, and Elizabeth felt his hurt. Sweat beaded again on his forehead. The deep ache stayed where he had strained the magical gates. Elizabeth could feel that.

The rocks she sat on were hard, and the glare of the glowing ball of light she'd brought to the center of the room was painfully bright. Dust hung on the air, and she used a soft magic to filter it from the air so she could breathe without choking.

"I can rescue us." She whispered, "If you believe in me."

"It goes against my grain to leave a gentlewoman to perform the part of the knight errant while I am her burden." He whispered softly, "I fear me, that you shall need to carry me."

She looked helplessly into his eyes. But despite the beauty of his presence, she felt the building need to act. To escape.

"I have a thought." He frowned and began to gather his will again.

"Do not hurt yourself!"

"This working uses different portae." Elizabeth felt him draw in his magic and release it through his eyes. He activated mage sight, and as he did so Elizabeth realized that magic would flow through his eyes constantly, before being drained through the pathways in his limbs, so those gates still were healthy. There was something very different about his mage sight than her own.

He looked first at Elizabeth, tilting his head. His voice filled with wide wonder. "So much potentia."

"Your magic. What flowed from you. A reservoir. Demons must have fed upon you — you have been drained to feed a demon."

He stared at her, as though in awe. "Can you see it? How our power is mixed and merged and become the same? Such beauty."

Half consciously, Elizabeth activated her own mage sight once more. She saw the tendrils and strands again. She saw how their linked hands produced a flow that went up her arm and made her tingle. As though they were near one person.

There were tears in his eyes as well as in hers. He squeezed her hand, intimately. "Every suffering I endured was worth experiencing this."

"I have not yet rescued you! In the ceiling. What do you see? A weakness?"

"Whilst we are together, and bound in this way, every difficulty will be overcome. I do not worry. Do not worry."

He looked up at the ceiling with his eyes. He studied. Elizabeth would have panicked, except she could sense his confidence did not shake.

"As I suspected. The wards have clear flaws which we can exploit. This prison was constructed by a clever amateur, who could not seek help from another more versed in such matters, lest his crime be discovered. We could overpower these wards if we struck together in the right place, but a better way can be found, as that would not be quickly accomplished, and would leave you and I in a state of exhaustion."

He slightly squeezed her hand that gripped his. "I require your aid. Invalid as I am, I cannot accomplish this working alone. You must shape the potentia with your will."

"I cannot learn a new working fast enough."

"We are bound together — do you feel that?" She felt how at his willing the power in her responded, shaping itself into a tiny working that sparked in the air.

"Oh!" Almost unsettling, to feel her own magic, her inner being, shaped by another will. But as he trusted her, she trusted him. "More than passing strange."

"I ought have explained first. Yet I feel as though—"

"Shhhh." The reality of this man was more perfect than she had imagined when she schemed to rescue him. "Use me as you wish."

He screwed his face into a concentrated expression as he lay upon the ground beside her, naked.

He pulled on the magic inside her again. He whispered out words in Latin, and then a spell was shaped by her power. She followed his lead, pressing her power into the working whose shape he controlled. They infused the ceiling with a thin stream of magic, too weak for the wardings to respond.

He was clever. Not just powerful. She had no idea there was so much to understand about the nature of rocks. The spell's energy filled the ground, mixing magic into the twenty feet of dirt and stones above them and then into the living grass of the sunny meadow. The spell let them feel the sun and see the waving grass.

He sighed, in happiness. "So beautiful…"

The spell revealed a dozen peasants on the surface, looking curiously at the blackened hole where the well had been, and at the line of collapsed dirt where the tunnel used to be.

He said, "We cannot let them see us as we leave."

"I am very good with invisibility spells. I think I am. I learned all I could, so that I could rescue you safely. I can make us both invisible, at least against commoners — but how shall we escape?"

"You can? That is fortunate…my trainings were not focused on hiding. So much potentia is betwixt us that we shall never hide from our enemy, but we can flee faster than he can follow, at the first at least. You gained understanding of the structure of the stones? Through my working."

"That spell was a work of genius!" Elizabeth clapped enthusiastically. "No spell I have used informed me of so many particulars!"

"I cannot remember… you must act for me, as I am yet weak. First, cloak us both with invisibility, we must not leave knowledge behind which can be disguised. Invisibility is an internal working, the warding will not bring it to naught."

Elizabeth pulled on their combined magic without letting his will guide hers. It had become an instinctive thing, not a matter of chanting, for her to hide herself. The process was different with the far vaster power, and Elizabeth paused, contemplating how to keep a gentleman watching from being able to see them.

They burned like a great torch flaming magic.

Then an intuitive idea came to her, born of her years of hiding under her father's nose. She expelled yet more magic out from them, but pulled it into them in the same way. The image cancelled out. If a mage was not too close, they would appear like the background flows of magic. At Elizabeth's will the power shaped itself. "I believe we cannot be seen now, even by our enemy."

"I as well. That was astonishing — a genius for such spells!"

A part of Elizabeth would have danced happily. His praise meant much to her. But she remained focused. "Now, what must I do?"

"My other hand. Take it. Let us grip each other by both hands."

They did.

"You feel it, can you not? I can feel your potentia. You can feel mine."

"You are like Papa, too educated to call it magic."

"Will it to be shaped, not touching us, but a hardened mass all around us, carrying air and freedom. Can you feel the way my potentia wishes it to be shaped?"

"I can feel. I can feel you."

"Transform its shape. Impose your mind and structure the potentia. Then speak the words following me."

Elizabeth nodded.

He spoke the Latin spell, after each word he paused, letting her repeat after him. She had not been taught — Latin was a matter for gentlemen. After Papa had her bled, Elizabeth tried to learn it from Papa's dictionaries and old grammar books, but she had learned little as she needed to hide. Through the bond she had with him, she felt the exact accents and tones with which he spoke. Elizabeth spoke with his same accent.

The hardening snapped about them. Any physical object could strike them, and so long as they still had magical energy, the pressure could not hurt them. Once Elizabeth knew she could hold the spell with her will permanently, she looked at him. "And now?"

"There is no shaped working for this. It is a matter of will — I can only guide you, the will must be yours. Do you feel those rocks and the pouch of air where the dirt was worn away by flows of water, above the roof of our prison? A boulder stands three feet above the bricks of the roof with only air beneath it. Pull on the rock with all the potentia we have seeped out into the ground, it shall crack through the roof of the dome, and destroy the warding with the roof. Once you do so, follow my lead so we can reach the surface safely — my portae will not shape the spell needed, but you can."

Elizabeth nodded, wide eyed. New fear flooded her body bringing her fully to alertness. This would collapse the whole roof upon them. Then she would need to follow his lead to force their way through twenty feet of dirt with the magic, and if she lost control of the hardening of their skin, they would die. And if she lost control of the invisibility they would be seen.

If she did not bring enough force down upon the rock, it would not crack the roof, and they would remain trapped.

Fast. Do it fast. She felt deep inside time was running out.

She took deep breaths and closed her eyes.

"You shall succeed at this, as you have at all else." His voice sharpened. "Now. The time is now."

Elizabeth brought all the potentia that had seeped down to the roof onto the boulder pulling it. But instead of falling as one big rock, her grasp was uneven, and the boulder split.

For a terrified second she thought she had failed, and the force would not break through the dome of the roof.

Crack!

The ball of light which she'd cast earlier let her see the terrifying rupture as a massive rock broke through the roof and fell to bounce and shatter on the ground a yard from them, spraying them with unfelt granite splinters. The bricks fell in a widening circle as the whole roof dissolved.

Elizabeth's brain almost refused to accept what she saw — roofs did not do such things — the light was gone, buried under debris.

The rocks and dirt collapsed upon them, and the defensive working protected their bodies, even though in a seeming instant they were so buried that she could not breathe in and out.

His will moved her potentia so it could displace the rocks pressing down upon them, and then allow them to reform under them. She followed his lead to place a levitation upon them both that propelled them towards the surface. Gripping his hand, Elizabeth called upon her power to do as he was willing her.

Nothing happened.

He squeezed her hand, even though they could not talk.

She had only done half of the working. She needed to link the displacement above them to the release beneath them a moment later when they had traveled above the rocks.

There was no time to calm again. Elizabeth needed to activate the working correctly this time.

His hand was squeezing hers, and his confidence in her radiated into Elizabeth.

She gripped with their joint potentia the rocks around them, and then she pushed the rock and dirt beneath them as they levitated into the suddenly empty space. First slow, and then faster, and faster, flying upwards like a cannonball.

All was completely dark. Then they crunched through the ground with a roaring muted by the protective spell.

Her stomach flipped at the sensation of the extremely fast movement.

Then in the sky. The ground dwindled at an incredible pace, becoming more and more distant. The peasants gathered in confusion around the ruins of the well and tunnel.

Him!

A gentleman flew towards the well at a furious pace. He skimmed above the oak treetops, his own working of invisibility upon him, but the power in them both let them perceive him through it. He was too small and far beneath them for the details of his appearance to be seen. They felt his power, which was bright, and mixed with the stolen power of his former captive. He had the sulfur taint of a demon's presence.

Elizabeth felt terror. He would see through the magic which hid them.

But her deepest sense promised success. She felt in her heart that he could not track them.

The man landed in front of the burnt entrance to the well and he disappeared into it.

They were far above, flying higher and higher, undetected. It seemed a bare moment until they were thousands of feet above the trees.

Each tree became smaller and smaller until they blended into a vast forest. They were higher than the hilltops, and Elizabeth could see all the mountains of the Peak District. They rose above the very mountains, looking down on the landscape of Derbyshire from an incredible height.

He laughed with exhilaration, and Elizabeth laughed with him.

"Slow down, stop — we are at a great enough height." He laughed again. "We already can only breathe because of the protective workings about us. I never have flown so high! The potentia flooded into us from that reservoir. So high. We are at least several miles."

Elizabeth giddily exclaimed, "'Tis perfect. And we are free. I feel completely safe. I know we are safe — you saw him? We escaped barely in time."

"Some anger sits upon me. It begs me to return, to fight him. But I would suffer a defeat within my present state. One day, I will find him once more. I shall learn all secrets from him, and strike him dead."

This pronouncement chilled Elizabeth. "No, do not seek vengeance. He defeated you once."

"Mayhap, he did. Yet, I deep in me feel certain he did by stratagem and trick, not through fair combat."

"He will trick you again — war is between him and us, and in war all is fair. Do not pretend a defeat through stratagem is less a defeat."

William was silent.

"Be happy you are free."

"Aye! And you and I are hand in hand, side by side. Bound. You have more significance to me than all. Even than vengeance."

Elizabeth embraced him compulsively, and though his arms were weak, he embraced her in turn. He was yet naked, but like Eve with Adam, it was right that they be there together. The potentia in them both kept oxygen and warmth around them despite the height. They looked out over all England.

A glorious view. The sun, the great dome of the sky, the flocks of birds flying above the thin white clouds, black specks like ground black pepper. Far out Elizabeth saw a hint of blue sea.

Her breath slowed, her fear and the energy that had let her succeed slowly drained away leaving her weak, though she was yet filled with power, but now that she was so closely linked to him, it was not too much power, but the correct sum.

"What is your name?" Elizabeth spoke softly. "I always have wondered."

"I know not."

"What?"

"I am possessed with no knowledge… no memory of before I was imprisoned." He seemed remarkably unbothered by this declaration, just as he was unbothered by his continuing nakedness and weakness. "However… William. Call me William."

 **AN:**

 **So here we go! _The Missing Prince_ is finally publishing here.**

 **It was one of my favorite stories to write, though the Regency with magic setting does make it considerably less Pride and Prejudicy than most of my novels. I hope you all love reading it as it comes out.**

 **If you want to support the writer/ find out what happened _now_ instead of waiting, the book is available at Amazon, Kobo, Barnes and Noble, and Apple books. Just search for the title and my name "Timothy Underwood". And the way I uploaded this book to ff net stripped out most of the italics, so you actually would get a slightly superior reading experience if you buy the book...**

 **Anyway, I was experimenting with having each scene be a separate chapter when I divided up this book, and I didn't bother to bunch them up again when I uploaded them. So later on in the book mostly, I'm going to occasionally publish two or even three chapters together on the same day to make sure you get a decent amount of stuff to read with each update.**

 **Enjoy!**


	5. Chapter 5

He was free at last.

William looked at her.

"William." She slowly spoke, as though savoring the sound of his name. "That name feels right, yet incomplete. I am Elizabeth — but you are a dear person to me. You must call me Lizzy."

"Lizzy." He smiled at her. "This is not, not in truth, a first meeting. By Jove, I am happy upon our first seeing."

"I have often seen you in my dreams. But this is more."

"Pray, speak more of your connections, your stories and your life, though I cannot reciprocate. What I know of you are essentials. Courageous, determined; energetic, resourceful."

He'd always known what she would look like. They flew far above the clouds, to where the atmosphere was thin, and the unhindered sun made his eyes ache with the unfamiliar brightness, even though an old instinct from before had been drilled into him so he used potentia without conscious intention to shade bright lights to dimness. A gentleman must see on the field of battle, no matter how bright the war workings glowed.

"You really have no memory? You know nothing of your family?" Elizabeth touched her hand to his bare shoulder.

"No memory of before. I remember you. You always wished and worried. We are bound, united, tied together. That tying is tighter than the ties to any family. I desire no history, no family beyond you."

His voice smoothed as he spoke, the burr from vocal cords unused going away. "I would be insane, a hollow shell of a human creature without your mind present in mine. Neither words, nor actions, nor even prayers, can express the debt infinite owed you by me."

"No! No debt. We are bound. As you said. As family! We must care for each other — but you know nothing? You do not know who did this to you, who your friends are?"

"You are my friend."

She smiled, brilliantly.

The clear sun too beamed upon him, warming his cold pasty skin. He had missed such sensations of nature. Their hands and arms gripped each other.

"You shall need to come with me. I was never sure what would occur after I rescued you. My aunt and uncle will allow you to stay and recover — I shall give them no choice. My Papa too when we return home. You must not leave us. Not ever."

"I have nowhere else to go. I do not wish to ever be parted from you. It would be wrong for us to separate."

The great ground spread endlessly beneath them. The air smelled cold and thin, with the breathing substance needed by his lungs pulled towards them by a working. This working had been in that forgotten past drilled into him so that he could never be suffocated so long as the slightest amount of oxygen was near.

"More details, Lizzy. What is your family name?"

"Bennet, we are the Bennets of Longbourn. My father is the master of the estate."

"I cannot recall such a family."

Elizabeth laughed, a high tinkling sound. "You cannot recall anything."

"I recall some matters. The King, for example. George III — he is still king?"

"Yes, though his treatment can only allow him to be fully sane one month out of two, and his son rules in his place during his infirmity."

"Such was the case when… before…" William felt a strange pride at hearing of the King's treatment, as though it was his own victory. "In any case, I know of the king, his son, the Cavendish dukes, the other great families of the land, and much else. Only matters of my own history am I ignorant of."

"We are not counted in such great company." Elizabeth's voice bubbled, and she moved one of the hands they held together to poke his naked chest. "You must admire me solely for my having saved you from your prison, and not my grand place in society."

"I shall admire you endlessly. For many reasons."

"Strange for a gentleman to not remember — a gentleman always remembers his word. You must wish to know the past years' history. And so much else."

"Anything you wish to tell me. But regarding yourself principally."

"We are yet at war with France. Napoleon has invaded Russia — but they say he shall return to Spain to drive our armies away in person again when he has brought to heel the Russian nobles. Madrid fell to Wellington in Spain just a few weeks past."

"To who?"

"Wellington! Oh, you do not know who he is? The grand nobleman whose workings can deflect a thousand cannon shots, and whose cunning plans allow his men to kill the French in droves, even when they outnumber him greatly?"

William smiled. "I know not the name."

"So your memory is poor. Ha! Wellington did something famous before Spain, and before you entered your state of pain — India. He defeated the Hindoo mystics of the Maratha empire, and he killed the Mohammedan sheiks in Mysore. Many grand workings. Oh! But you would know his name as Arthur Wellesley. He only was granted the title of Wellington a few years past."

"Wellesley? That name I recall. However, about yourself speak. I yet desire more knowledge."

"Me? I have four sisters, one older and three younger. My oldest sister is Jane, and she is the most beautiful woman in the world. But she has married. My other sisters can be a little silly, but they are dear. My mother is obsessed with marrying us all to the richest gentleman she can find. I am quite a disappointment to her. My father, he is learned. Too learned… Our estate sits in Hertfordshire, much to the south of here. We live twenty-five miles distant from London. Jane's husband's family comes from the north, around Newcastle. And Mr. Bingley is… he is very sweet. I love to read — oh there is so much to tell."

"I wish to hear it all."

"I will tell you every particular, but we must return to the ground soon." She softly breathed out. "The dark comes. We must seek shelter."

William was sick, infused with far too great an amount of potentia for a man, and bruised, and weak. So much of his body did not function right. He looked down upon himself. His muscles were gone, leaving thin ropy tendons. His ribs popped out, as on a beggar who had starved for weeks.

He could neither fight nor protect Elizabeth.

"What is your intention? I know not enough to decide. What resources do we have?" His weak hands gripped her strong hands. "Your aunt and uncle. Can we hide safely with them? Will they allow me to stay within their walls? Is the place they reside distant enough from my prison for safety from my enemy's search?"

"You are afraid!"

Their faces were so close that William could only focus on one of her eyes at a time. Her head looked strange, from how the hair had been seared off by the explosion which freed him. It gave her an exotic beauty.

Already the potentia in her body sensed the hair was shorter than she wished, and had caused her hair to begin growing fast. A thick short fuzz of hair had grown out, like if a commoner man had not shaved for a week.

"I am. Even though I am with you."

"You need not be. I have found you, and I shall take care of you until you are well."

"I shall still need you close after I am well."

"Then we shall stay close."

"I have not been near other people for so long. That frightens me, though it is an unreasoning fear. I can allow you to hear my fear, without shame."

Her eyes shined at him. "My aunt and uncle will be very surprised — I do not look forward to explaining the matter to them. But they will help us."

"They do not know of me?" William grinned. "Of course they cannot; responsible persons would never have allowed you to enter such a trap if they knew what you planned."

She laughed. "I am not the most obedient woman."

"You are a higher form of womanhood than obedient! Brave, like a heroine from a tale— But your aunt and uncle. To enter the abode of a gentleman who is a complete stranger. He might be enraged. Perhaps I should not come close until you soothe him. I am unable to protect myself at present. Yet it tears against my nature to be parted from you, even to such a little extent."

Elizabeth looked away from him.

She flinched away from the sight of nothing beneath them for at least fifteen thousand feet, and the vast stretch of the ground. William felt comfortable; he was used to flying quite high, even though he could not remember when he had.

Distant grey clouds moved towards them from the far away coast, and the setting sun glinted reddish upon them.

"That… no risk of that," Elizabeth mumbled. "My uncle and my aunt are not… my uncle is my mother's half-brother. My grandfather's second wife was not a gentlewoman." She took a deep breath and looked at him defiantly. "He is a tradesman."

William felt a flinch of revulsion at the thought. He was above being indebted to a tradesman. His Lizzy, the niece of a tradesman?

His Lizzy. He would not care. He gripped Elizabeth's hand tighter. She had spent years preparing to rescue him, and they were connected so tightly by this strange force that flowed between them.

Elizabeth's perfection was infinite. Her unfortunate relations were finitely unfortunate. The subtraction of a finite sum from Elizabeth's infinite value left her worth unbounded.

"You do not mind then, not very much? They are very good people. Both very clever. I love them dearly. Do not judge them harshly for not having magic." Her wide eyes shined into his.

William would swear unending war against the seas, and then spend his life entirely in a doomed quest to defeat them, if such would make her happy. "No person attached to you could be shameful — my gratitude, my debt — I never will judge your connections other than how you wish."

"I…" She beamed and darted her head forward and kissed him upon the cheek. Her lips were soft.

They smiled at each other.

Elizabeth frowned a little. "I never thought deeply about after I rescued you — I did not know. You will recover quickly. My father. I need to return to him… he is very learned, perhaps he can help your memory."

"I would follow you to the ends of England, to the ends of the globe."

"You like to embellish your promises?"

"I mean such."

She grinned.

"I doubt your father shall be happy with my acquaintance. What consideration made him agree to your trip? A tradesman could never provide suitable supervision and protection for a gentlewoman of your age."

The thin wind whistled over William's body.

"It is his place to choose…but deeply strange."

"He did choose."

"Forgive me. Your father has my respect, and I…I will not speculate unless you tell me to."

"He doesn't care about me."

"That cannot be true." But if he did not care about Elizabeth, he would make no difficulty for William. That might be good.

"He didn't help. I begged him. And so… I lied to him. That was why he allowed this trip."

"Oh."

"I once told him everything. When I was a child still. What our connection was. That you needed rescue. He didn't help! A physician determined with his arts that I was mad and suffered from hallucinations. The doctors bled me of magic until I convinced Papa the hallucinations were gone."

William swallowed. He had been bled of his potentia as well. He despised this unnamed doctor.

"I wasn't hallucinating! You are real!"

"I have always been real. I waited for you."

"He didn't trust me. You would have been rescued years ago if not for him. He worries very much, he tries to care for me. But he is too proud of his science and reason. Do not hate him."

Without thought he brushed his fingers across her cheek. Blood from when his hands had bled still stuck to them, and he brushed the reddish flakes off to reveal her tan skin, newly grown as her potentia repaired the damage from when she had been burned rescuing him.

"We have no choice but to return to Papa… I do not trust him."

"Never shall I permit us to be parted, so long as life animates my sinews."

Elizabeth brushed at her eyes. She pointed at the clouds, closer now, and the sun, nearly upon the horizon. "Time passes."

"Let us meet your aunt and uncle. I promise to think of them kindly — I promise further to respect them, which is more."

Though William had not been in company for many a year, though the names praised by the mad crowds had changed in his absence, and though he was helpless and to be indebted to a tradesman, he would not fear others. Though his stomach clutched with anxiety, he would not be anxious. He would master all.

At first Elizabeth made them plummet, but William coached her to manage their mixed potentia better to keep them at safe speed. Quickly she learned and became skilled.

They dropped from the sky. The ground grew in size. The horizon narrowed. The largest trees became distinct tiny, tiny individuals. The lines and furrows of the fields became visible, and the thin straight line of the Great Northern Road, making its long way from London to Edinburgh.

The carts and horsemen were tiny ants. The people hurrying up and down the road upon their daily business were smaller ants. The buildings grew. Windows and white plaster. Yards filled with green shrubs, full of leaves. Warm summertime.

The people became larger and larger. Elizabeth directed them to a large and stately building. A well-appointed inn, of the sort used mostly by tradesmen.

Gentlemen traveled with sufficient speed to pass between the cities they wished to visit during the course of a day, and if they must pause, they preferred to set up their own camp where they could control the wards and knew no foreign workings were present.

Elizabeth and William settled behind the building, next to one of the open windows, still invisible. A faint rich smell of a beef stew drifted from the kitchen of the inn. William was salivating with hunger. He had a desperate desire to chew meat and have real food in his stomach once more.

When the levitation ended, William tried to stand. His weak legs crumpled under him. Elizabeth held him up so he did not fall into a helpless heap on the ground.

"I did not hurt you? I should have thought. Before I released the working and—"

"Lizzy, you caught me." William had laughter in his voice as he added, "I require a garment. I fear my education… whoever taught me did not gift me the skill to call up clothing."

"Oh!" She looked him over again, her eyes briefly ogling his exposed loins before she stoutly looked away. "Upon my honour, I entirely forgot…somehow."

"I forgot as well. It seemed natural and right, the two of us soaring high together. But I must be dressed to be presented to your aunt and uncle."

Elizabeth giggled. "I will not make a good job of dressing you! My mother despaired at teaching me womanly arts. I spent my days sneaking around, or breaking into my Papa's study."

"You spent your time in a far better manner than others of your sex. Anyone can see."

Elizabeth tore off the cotton sleeve of her tattered dress with her left hand. Her right hand was uselessly cramped at her side. She needed a physician, to encourage the hand to heal fully.

She frowned at the cotton strip. "I do not even know your measurements."

"A banyan. Such a dressing gown can be donned easily. I cannot press my legs into trousers in my present state."

"A big banyan." She grinned. "You are very tall."

Her potentia whispered to William as she shaped a working upon the long strip of woven cotton with her English incantation. The strands unraveled and grew, lengthening as the potentia pulled fragments of carbon matter from the air to incorporate into their structure. The cotton plant grew by doing so in the first place.

The great French scientist Lavoisier had discovered only a few decades past the details of how such workings allowed growth to come apparently from nowhere before he was executed by the brutal directorate that had murdered their king.

Elizabeth placed far too much potentia into her working, and she produced a massive wrinkled sheet that could easily clothe a giant instead of a man. The object fluffed out over the ground thickly. Only one arm had grown from the robe, and the robe was a hideous mixed blue and white.

William grinned when Elizabeth's eyes darted to his to see how he took her work.

"You cannot remember ever seeing anyone doing it better!"

"Far better than I ever have seen the working cast — you mean to imply there are those who do a superior job? I confess confusion: Why?"

"That sardonic tone — you sound like my father."

"I hope I shall like him."

They wrapped the gown around William. He stuck his right arm through the sleeve. The sheet had another hole for his second arm, though it had no sleeve and was at a mismatched location.

The beefy smell of cooking stew infused the air. Now that William was at least no longer naked — to call his current raiment "dressed" would abuse the word — his starving stomach yipped demandingly.

He wanted to eat every food once more: Stews, pastries, sweet breads, plain bread, cheeses, the blue-veined stinky cheeses from France, good English cheddar, the soft cheeses made by cottagers. And ales, and wines, and water.

He even craved water.

William's nutrients had been fused into him by the workings in the machine he'd been attached to. The machine had used workings invented to use potentia to allow a man to live if his digestive organs were destroyed.

Elizabeth tapped on the window, and the bar on the inside snapped open, and the window opened itself. Her will floated William softly through the window, his head and limbs shifted about so that they did not touch the frame.

He floated into a smallish bedroom, with a deep fur rug and a modest stove for heating in the corner. The grate was empty and cleaned out due to the mild summer season. Even though gentry could keep themselves warm by force of will, there was more comfort when a body relaxed in natural warmth.

A pile of books lay in a mess on the desk, and an ornate bronze mirror with a fine reflective surface sat beside the books. There was a small pot of lady's rouge and a collection of brushes and several jars of powders.

"This is your bedroom?"

Elizabeth crawled into the room through the window behind him, and she directed the spell to lay William on the bed — her bed.

She nodded absentmindedly and anxiously frowned at the door.

"You cannot leave me in here. Think of your reputation."

"Only my aunt and uncle will ever know."

"Put me elsewhere. I am concerned for you in this respect, even if you are not."

She rolled her expressive eyes. "I have nowhere else to put you."

"I can lie outside the window."

"Nonsense."

"Elizabeth, it is proper."

"Nonsense. I will not leave you uncomfortable for such a cause. You shall not win this argument, not until you have the ability to move yourself out the window."

Darcy was too tired and weak to argue further. He relaxed into the soft mattress and groaned.

"Do you hurt terribly?" She nervously gnawed her lip and looked him up and down.

"No." A lie, but William smiled. The potentia flowing through him would quickly heal all the injuries of his years in pain.

"A physician. We must have a physician straight off. For me as well."

"I do not require a physician — your injury will not worsen without care either. So long as we are within this country, we must remain hidden. He will question all doctors hereabouts."

"I can wait, yes. But you need care. After so many years, you must be seen, by a man with skill." Elizabeth reached up her hand, as though she wanted to pull on a lock of hair. Her fingers closed on nothing, as the hair had been burnt away, and she patted her head with her fingers several times and laughed. "I must look a horrid sight. Quite, quite dirty and ugly — I shudder to think what my aunt and uncle shall think."

"Disguise the hair, or make it grow back immediately. You do not want to be questioned by the servants."

"You worry that our enemy will question them after they question me? We are ten miles away from where I found you. There must be at least a dozen market towns closer."

"Then he will search here later rather than sooner. My suspicion is that he shall first search Liverpool. But we must assume that he will search here."

Elizabeth rubbed her fuzzy head. "The hair will grow fully to length in two weeks — my magic knows I wish it longer. But while I cannot clean myself and my dress, I can disguise the dirt." She looked at the mirror, incanted slowly in her clean high voice, and patted her hands around her face and head.

Their connection meant William experienced her potentia as though it were his own. He saw through her working, seeing the burnt and torn dress, her hair, short like the fur of a cat, and he smelled the faint dust and blood that hung about both of them. To anyone else she would appear to have long curled hair, unobtrusive and soft.

She was beautiful, no matter how her hair looked.

"What appearance do I now have?" She smirked at him.

"That of the woman who rescued me, and to whom I owe everything."

She looked at the ceiling in faux exasperation. "Quite the opposite of what I hoped — I am supposed to look clean. Not as though I collapsed a tunnel upon myself and rescued an amnesiac from his cell. No further delay. It must be done. I will talk to my aunt and uncle alone first."

William rolled his eyes, imitating the gesture she'd just made. "It would not be the best to introduce them to a strange man wrapped in a sheet with no warning."

Elizabeth giggled, and some of her nervousness fell away. "I will not let them refuse to help."

William's throat spasmed. What if Elizabeth was ordered by her family to abandon him?

She turned to his bed and gripped his hand in her working hand. "I won't abandon you! No matter what they say. You need not worry about that!"

William made no smile. His fear was not for himself. She could not abandon him, and she would not. But he did not want her to lose her family.

"I do not worry." William called up confidence, to reassure Elizabeth. "Your aunt and uncle will take me into their apartments and allow you to care for me whilst I recover."

The thought felt like salt had been rubbed into wounds which were still open. Men of his type did not depend upon commoners — no matter who they were, or how good of a person the commoner was. "I shall find means to recompense them later."

"No speech of recompense and debts. They will help us… they will." Elizabeth let out a deep breath. "If it must be done, 'twere best done quickly."

She left the room with a determined set to her shoulders.

Alone.

William looked at the books on her desk. A French novel, a treatise in German on traps and defenses which William had read once. He of course did not remember when he read the book. A traveler's guide to the Peak District. Two other treatises on potentia, both in English.

Elizabeth had been serious about her studies.

The working of invisibility she had tied around him was powerful, and her attempt to disguise the loss of her hair and the damage to her clothes was an extension of those skills. She possessed a genius.

A comfortably high ceiling, as befitted a room given to a gentlewoman traveler who deigned to stay at such an establishment. The ceiling had a rustic look with exposed and varnished oak planks, rather than plaster or carvings.

William lay atop an attractive stuffed quilt. He experimentally rolled side to side to test the springs of the bed, before stopping in fear that the aunt and uncle would perceive his presence prematurely. But he made no sound.

He laughed at himself — silently, not wishing to test good fortune — of course Elizabeth's invisibility spell accounted for that. She was a genius.

Two minutes passed.

So hungry. He was so hungry.

The windows had been left open and the soft breeze billowed the curtains about, wafting with it the smell of that cooking stew and underneath it a faint hint of Cornish pasties. He almost tasted the floury pasties and a spiced pork interior. William's stomach growled. If he could move himself, he'd sneak past Elizabeth and her relatives to snack.

What the deuce took them so long? He was starving.

What if they were threatening Elizabeth because she refused to abandon him? What if he could help her? With a frustrated motion of his hand, William called up a simple working that allowed him to hear everything from the room next to him. The portae in his head were necessary for his survival, so they had not atrophied in the way those in his limbs had.

"Never! I tell you, never!"

William flinched at the firm male voice.

The voice added, "Your father shall never forgive me for letting you run yourself into such trouble."

"Do not be so dramatic." Elizabeth's voice was sharp, filled with her earlier nervousness. "Papa always liked you."

A lady, whose stride sounded different from Elizabeth's, took a few light footsteps to stand next to the man. "Dearest, you make a great mountain out of small mountain. Even if Bennet never forgives you, he will blame Elizabeth, as he should. Bennet will still like you almost as much as ever."

"Et tu, ma chere?"

"Don't mix French and Latin." The woman sighed. "We must at least speak to this man — amnesiac or more likely fraud. His act convinced Elizabeth entirely."

Elizabeth exclaimed, "Thank you! Thank you! When you see William, you will understand—"

"Lizzy, you threatened us in a way that you should never have." The woman's sharp voice cut over her niece's pleasure. "I am deeply disappointed in you, and I distrust him the more for your enthusiasm."

Long silence.

"I dare say there is more to the matter than a simple fraud." The male voice spoke. "A gentleman never forgets his word. Ha! I'd like to see that proven false. Let us meet this injured amnesiac of yours. Where is he?"

A brief pause.

"In your room! The deuce! Lizzy, what are you thinking? Have you not the slightest concern for your reputation?"

William smiled. He definitely would like Elizabeth's uncle, even if the man did not make his best attempt to kill him.

Elizabeth protested. "No one can see him if I do not wish them to."

"Invisibility?" Her aunt said scornfully, "That will reduce harm to your reputation when someone does detect his presence."

"I am skilled with my invisibility spells. No one shall detect him." Another pause. "I am!"

William smiled. Whatever her aunt believed, Elizabeth was extremely skilled with them.

The heavy footsteps of Elizabeth's uncle went to the sitting room door.

The group in the other room was about to come here to see him.

No. He could not be seen like this.

The ridiculous sheet he had been wrapped in by Elizabeth was not a matter of moment. A gentleman of consequence ought to be able to project his presence and his significance whether naked, wrapped in a sheet, or even in a clown's costume. William recalled a fragmented image of an aged actor intoning the lines of Lear's fool: "Prithee, nuncle, tell me whether a madman be a gentleman or a yoeman?"

Even with a floppy foolscap and yellow and red shirt, a great man could project himself.

William needed to sit up. The voice could not be projected from his current position. His chest muscles were in good condition yet, as breathing had kept them from atrophy.

William was weak. He depended upon commoners with no potentia for his lodging, but he would appear himself, a man of dignity and value, nonetheless.

He placed his hands under him to push himself up, but when he pushed, nothing happened. There was a strain in his arms, but he could not press enough force behind the effort to even hurt himself.

The conversation in the other room finished and the footsteps came from the hallway. He only had seconds.

His ability to shape potentia also was atrophied, but Darcy instinctively pulled on it to strengthen his arms and simultaneously lighten himself. With a quick movement that sent a sharp pain up his arms he pulled himself up and settled so he sat with his back erect and a pillow behind him. He had placed a calm and proud expression upon his face by the time they opened the door.

The two commoners entered and looked around in confusion. First they glanced at the bed and then around the chairs and furniture. Elizabeth's aunt was a middle-sized woman who looked to be in her thirties, with dark hair and intelligent features. She dressed in fine clothes and her lace had the rich silken sheen which showed the work of some poor gentlemen who cast enchantments to improve the luster of the clothes of commoners.

Mrs. Gardiner turned to Elizabeth with bright eyes and a mischievous twist to her lips. "You said no one could see him."

Elizabeth flushed and smiled embarrassedly. "Pardon." With a wave of her hand the working she'd woven with his power to hide him lifted partially.

She was able to remove the portion of the working that hid him from ordinary sight, but she kept the twists about his power that made it so only a whisper of potentia leaked from him to inform his enemy of his presence.

His Elizabeth was astonishing.

Her uncle jumped with a start and laughed. "Your mother made things appear just to startle me as a child. I ought to be well used to it by now."

He studied William with a considering gaze. Mr. Gardiner was a bald man of about forty, with intelligent eyes and bristly sideburns. He had the unbent look of a London tradesman who refused to offer the subservience to gentry that other commoners showed naturally. The aristocracy and the men of the city had always disliked each other.

William liked Mr. Gardiner's look. In a normal circumstance he would happily do business with such a man. Being indebted to him still rankled — despite his familial connection to Elizabeth.

After a long chance for them to exchange looks, Elizabeth said, "William, my Uncle, Mr. Gardiner. Uncle, this is William."

"Hmmm. Lizzy believes you to have no family name."

"I am who I am. What family I have, what episodes I have lived, what resources I own, I cannot bring them into mind. A gentleman should always be prepared for extreme oddities to affect his life. It is the nature of having so much of the fey power running through our veins. My force of presence ought to be sufficient to establish my character."

William looked at the man steadily. Outwardly, he appeared ridiculous; presence was a matter of overcoming appearances of things to let the inner reality of the gentleman shine forth.

Mr. Gardiner stood straighter. He said to his wife, "Upon my honour, this man is no fraudulent creature like I hoped. No one but a grand gentleman could play the grand gentleman so well."

The woman frowned at William. "I have seen many fine actors in my day."

Mr. Gardiner stuck his hand forward, to shake William's. "I am honoured to meet you."

William struggled to raise his arm to meet Mr. Gardiner's. He'd been able to do that little a minute before, but he'd done some damage to his arms when he pushed himself into a sitting position. When William half extended his arm, a sharp pain forced him to give up the effort and drop it to his side.

It hurt so much that he pressed his tongue against his teeth to keep from crying out. William did not close his eyes or deepen his breathing. Spirit must overcome flesh. In medieval days, when gentlemen trained to become knights, they were required to remain awake upon their knees without moving for an entire night before being given the title. A true gentleman ignored his body's demands when he must.

William was extremely hungry. He must ignore that too until this conversation was concluded.

Elizabeth rushed forward and took his arm. "William, what happened? Your hand, is it bleeding once more?"

"No."

Mrs. Gardiner said, "Elizabeth, you know not to touch a gentleman in his bed in such a way. It is a job for the hired nurse or a relative or wife."

Elizabeth ignored her aunt and said, "How did you sit up? You are so weak. Did you push yourself up? Does it hurt? You should have asked me, if you wanted to sit up. How much does it hurt?"

Elizabeth's worry touched William, but it also annoyed him. He had hurt himself in a small manner by changing his position. He had no regret. William had been placed in a position where he had no control; and a gentleman always found a way to gain control of his situation.

Mr. Gardiner rubbed the top of his head. "I see that you are very ill. Mr. William — you do not mind if I give you that as a surname as well as a Christian name?"

William smiled in the way a gracious lord did to the joke of a valued friend and subordinate. "A sign of abominable taste upon the part of my parents to name me William William, but you may call me that."

Elizabeth giggled. "Such a silly thing — a boy in the village next to Longbourn is named is John Johnson."

"Though you are ignorant of your true name," Mr. Gardiner said, "I see you are a man of no little consequence. I am Mr. Edward Gardiner of the Worshipful Company of Mercers in London. I am at your service. First, we shall call a physician to look upon you."

"Not required. Not at all. I shall be hale soon without any aid. I am confident. Never was I in a case such as this before, and—"

"Dear sir — if you remember nothing, you do not know that either." Mrs. Gardiner turned her easily amused smile on William and said, "I had a cousin who was once in bed with an illness for three months, and the physician was quite concerned about helping his muscles recover without overstraining them. Now I know all you gentlemen think you are so different, but you have already pulled a muscle — that is why your arm hurt so?"

William winced at the reminder of the pain. His arm was swelling from the sprain. But what gnawed at him was hunger. He could ignore both pain and hunger.

Mrs. Gardiner cheerfully said, "Your muscles might heal on their own, but your health will improve ever so much quicker and more comfortably with the aid of a physician. You want to heal quickly, do you not?"

There was an implied message William heard clearly: Once he was healed, there would be no reason for them to care for him.

"Do not think I know nothing about the matter." Mrs. Gardiner smiled at Elizabeth in a manner that indicated both good cheer and annoyance. "My wonderful nieces are gentlewomen. They often get into scrapes, and fall out of trees or into wells, and—"

"Discovery," William sharply replied. "This was done to me. A physician will be interrogated when my enemy comes here to search for me. Even if the doctor makes a promise to speak nothing, my enemy must be a powerful man with no honour."

"So, you have an enemy. Lizzy mentioned nothing of the matter, but I could have guessed so much." Mr. Gardiner's face went pale. "A powerful enemy lacking in honour and decency. This ends the matter for us. We have not the strength to become involved in such doings."

"William is in need." Elizabeth clutched William's hand as she replied to her uncle. "You would not ignore the needs of a man who—"

"I indulged you far enough. We will have nothing to do with this. Nothing. Your father would speak the same. He has always avoided entangling himself in the affairs of the great — they despise my sort. Forgive me, Mr. William."

"This is not a fear for which I can hold you blameworthy. But… the matter is not so simple."

"I care not for the complexities — it is not our place to interfere in the unpleasant situation you find yourself within. I will happily leave you a sum of money, so you can hire a servant to care for you if you wish — anything simple you ask, I shall do. But to take you under my roof—"

"Coward."

"Lizzy—"

"He needs help — you see how weak William is — you see the bandages on William's hands. Tortured. He was tortured. For years. And you want to abandon him because you are frightened—"

"Fool girl. Of course I am frightened."

Bringing serious danger to a woman and a pair of commoners was not the action of a gentleman. William's honour demanded he declare that he needed no help. Maybe he could survive, though without Elizabeth's invisibility working, he would be discovered for certain. But if she could teach it to him before they left…

The panic struck him like pistol striking his chest. His feet, his muscles and his spine.

Alone. Without her. Fear. His chest squeezed.

The gentleman in William spoke on its own without listening to his panicked mind, though he'd heard nothing of the last minutes of conversation. "You ought to be frightened." He paused, half for rhetorical effect, and half because the claws around his throat stopped his words. "You ought to be frightened. I understand your concern and I… you have my thanks for the kindness offered. And I will manage without…"

Darcy panted. He could not finish the sentence. He could not tell them to leave him.

The world spun around. Everything hurt. He was back in the prison. The pain again, forever, and ever, and ever. Elizabeth's presence no longer with him.

"No! No! No!" Elizabeth shouted at William. "You won't survive. You know you won't — you need me. I won't let you. Never, never."

William looked at Elizabeth, his eyes wide. He would commit any crime to keep from being parted from her. His survival had nothing to do with it. He would kill her aunt and uncle if he must.

"You need me. We are bound together. You can't try, and you are too weak to escape me."

He nodded wordlessly.

"Never. Never. Never."

"I am incapable of parting from you as well. Never." It took a painful effort to incline his head. "Miss Elizabeth, I apologize for the insult I delivered to you."

Shiny tears showed in her eyes. "You mean that? Truly?"

"Lizzy," Mr. Gardiner put his hand on her shoulder, "You will not aid this gentleman. You, sir, are encouraging a young girl to act against the wishes of her uncle. She is not of age, and her father placed her under my supervision, and—"

"I shall help William, no matter your words."

"Let us not be hasty. You met Mr. William this afternoon, you said." Mr. Gardiner rubbed at his head furiously, disarranging his fringe of hair into a mess. "He could manage with some money, and—"

She glared at her uncle. "If you are terrified, leave me here. You need not to be in danger."

"We will not put ourselves in the way of dangerous people for a stranger. My duty is to your father, he put you in my protection, and I will care—"

"You cannot force me to leave. I will not allow you."

He sighed. "If I turned to a magistrate, he would help me return you to your father, and he could protect Mr. William and investigate the matter. Nothing good comes of bothering with the matters of the great. This stinks of aristocracy. I'll wash our hands of the dealings with nobles and their games, and—"

"Elizabeth reserved something important from her disclosures. Listen to them speak — 'we are bound together.' What did you mean by that, Lizzy?" Mrs. Gardiner looked at her niece with a hard, calculating glint.

She was too intelligent. A gentleman like his enemy knew illegal workings to plumb the mind of a commoner for his secrets, and Mrs. Gardiner knew too much already.

Mrs. Gardiner said with hard smile, "I did not expect your bluffing face to fall so quickly, Mr. William. What relationship have you had with my niece? You present yourself exceeding well—"

"The deuce!" Mr. Gardiner swore, "Bound! You are bound to him? Years. Lizzy is this… that time Bennet had you bled for hallucinations — you said you were bound then."

"Yes! William was that man! He was! Papa stopped me then. You won't stop me now!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "It is magical — we've always had this bond. Always real! Always real! I was right! It was William."

"That! You were fifteen. It's been almost six years."

Six years? He had been imprisoned a long time. William felt no animus against Mr. Bennet for this. He had suffered those years, but he had also felt his bond with Elizabeth. The time did not seem like six years. It seemed an instant, like his life only truly began this day, when Elizabeth's hand touched his and they glowed with the mixing of their essences.

Elizabeth insisted, "I'll never allow myself to be separated from him now that I've rescued him."

"I see." Mr. Gardiner nodded curtly. "The true reason you wished to travel to the Peaks?"

"William has been tortured and his magic used by that filthy creature for all this time, all because Papa would not listen to me."

"Elizabeth, their minds might be read by him. Then he would know to hurt you."

Mr. Gardiner locked his hands behind his back and peered deeply at Elizabeth's face. He looked at William. "Leave aside fear on that score. Not by accident have the corporations of London maintained their coveted rights from king and great lords. We have methods to protect our secret dealings. You have your pride, and I have mine. I am a master within one of the twelve great livery companies. My mind shall not be read with casual effort as a peasant's might be. Neither shall my wife's — you are the man Lizzy ranted about as a child? Good God! So many years!"

"I am the man. I have no notion how this connection between us exists. I did not intentionally set out to use a young woman to rescue me."

Mrs. Gardiner snapped, "You did entrap Lizzy and us into this dangerous game. End this 'bond' and let us leave. You already caused a serious illness in my niece. If you truly are a gentleman, you will treat my niece as a lady, and—"

"Dear, we will help this man," Mr. Gardiner replied. The fear that had been in him earlier seemed gone. "Were he simply a stranger I would never entangle us in this matter, but he and Lizzy are deeply connected. My father was a gentleman, I know enough of such matters to know that a mysterious working of magic should be neither ignored nor negligently treated. We shall support Mr. William as though he were family."

"The danger! Our children. Think of our children. A great gentleman, a man willing to imprison a person for years, as Mr. William claims he was imprisoned, such a man will stop at no consideration. He will strike against us, and we cannot protect ourselves. Though you forget my children I cannot. They are surely more important than Lizzy's infatuated obsession."

"We shall help Mr. William." Mr. Gardiner clasped his hands together behind his back. "No further discussion shall be held upon this matter."

The couple stared at each other.

Mrs. Gardiner looked down. "I accept your will."

"Uncle, I thank you… so, so much." Elizabeth stood and embraced him. Mrs. Gardiner stepped away from Elizabeth when she approached her.

Mr. Gardiner put his hand on Elizabeth's shoulder. "Lizzy, your father did you a great disservice, but matters will now be corrected. To practicalities. Fear of discovery requires we do not call a physician until we have reached far south. Elizabeth, you still must explain what happened to your hand."

"Fine. Nothing to worry about — not until we can see a physician."

Mr. Gardiner grimaced. "Allow me to look closer."

The smell of the stew. Bread baked in an oven, its scent wafting through the open window. William's nose sharpened with potentia. He smelled the simple meals of cottagers, a ragout served by a French chef to a gentleman, and roasts turning on spits, not cooked through yet, but eatable already.

"Pray, food. I require food." William spoke, "My stomach is like an ill-trained dog, always begging for more. Try as I might, I cannot quiet it."

William glanced at Elizabeth, curious to see if she recognized his reference to the Odyssey.

Mr. Gardiner barked a laugh. "Odysseus, a man cursed by many strange happenings — an appropriate metaphor for you, who have been trapped and entombed for six long years, and yet have a great journey before you shall return to your home. I will have a large tray of meats, cheeses and fruits sent to us."

"That stew I smell also."

Mrs. Gardiner glared between them all. "Let me order them."

She shut the door hard enough to make her ill feelings upon the situation clear.

William was unsurprised that a wife who was not connected by blood to Elizabeth and who had far less experience of the doings of gentlemen would be distressed.

Mr. Gardiner paced and frowned.

Now that he had the promise of food William realized his heart raced at a terrific pace. Strange, he was entirely confident in himself, but he shook and shivered, as though from fear or illness.

To distract himself, William asked Mr. Gardiner, "You have read Homer?"

"Alas, only translations. I have read both Pope and Chapman and several German translations. They do not teach us Latin or Greek, and I did not judge it worth the effort to learn a language just so I could read poetry adequately translated into tongues I do know."

"But you still have read him. I am glad to know it."

Elizabeth laughingly stamped her foot. "Do not argue at too great length about the merits of translations, or spend too great time in praise of Homer. One of us would be bored."

The room was relaxing. William smiled, glad to see it.

Mr. Gardiner sat on the window sill. "We ought to bring more chairs into this room, if you are to sleep in it — what do you know of your situation?"

"No great amount. My potentia was drained and used for some infernal purpose. The room smelled of a demon. Now that the flows have returned to normal my body will quickly recover. I only require food and rest."

Mrs. Gardiner returned with a divinely smelling plate. Red strawberries, blueberries, yellow cheeses, white cheeses, a mug of some beer, and cold cuts of ham and sausages. Slices of creamy white bread sat neatly in the middle of the plate. And a bowl of the beef stew.

Elizabeth took the platter from her aunt and sat on the bed next to William. "Do not stress yourself; let me feed you." She put a piece of cheese in his mouth.

It was intimate and strange to let her feed him while in the presence of her relatives. The cheese tasted better than he could imagine anything tasting. William chewed carefully, letting the flavors tingle through his mouth. He swallowed. "The beer, please."

She lifted it to his mouth and tilted the mug too deeply causing beer to flood his mouth. William choked and sputtered and coughed. The beer spilled over the makeshift dressing robe Elizabeth had made for him, improving the mix of its colors with a brown stain.

"Oops. Harder than it looks to help another drink."

William grinned. "You may attempt to choke me whenever you so please."

"Ha! After so much time I plan to keep you alive."

She tilted the mug very slightly. William drank for a long time, slowly swallowing, being careful to keep from choking. The scent and taste were divine. Even sweeter was this domestic care Elizabeth showed for him, after she rescued him like a knight valiant from his buried dungeon.

As she fed him, the church bells in the town rang, the heavy bronze thuds of the clapper striking the sides of the bells.

Dong. Dong. Dong.

The light outside was entirely gone, and they were only lit by the clean glows of the workings upon the lamps in the room, brighter and more reliable than any oil or any candle, though far more expensive, as not many gentlemen dirtied their hands with producing artifacts for pay for the comfort of those who could not call upon their own potentia.

Mr. Gardiner left the room, saying that he would bring back more chairs.

Mrs. Gardiner said to Elizabeth once her husband was away, "You lied to us. This entire journey has been based upon lies. Did you consider telling us the truth? We love you — I thought you trusted us… This is a matter deeply dangerous. Have you not thought about our wellbeing?"

"I regret nothing."

"Lizzy!"

"Papa was my family. I had to lie to him. You would not have believed me either."

Mrs. Gardiner studied Elizabeth for a long time. "Never act in this manner again. You behave with almost as much arrogance and unconcern towards us as your Mr. William."

Elizabeth looked at her aunt with unapologetic fierceness.

Mrs. Gardiner looked at William, "Perhaps it is not my place to criticize your manners—"

"I am arrogant."

"I see that game you play with your voice, and the way you hold yourself. If you believed you must, you would happily modify my mind to gain your desires, believing it was your highborn right."

William gave no reply. He would not do so happily.

Mrs. Gardiner stood. "My beliefs are radical, perhaps French. Those commoners did not do right to kill so many of their gentry, but I understand how they were driven to it."

"Auntie!"

Mr. Gardiner returned to the room, with the backs of a chair in each hand. He put them down with thuds in convenient locations near the bed. He rubbed his hands. "Excellent. Frightening matter, this is, but quite exciting in its way."


	6. Chapter 6

Elizabeth felt satisfied and happy as she watched her uncle and William talk.

"No, no, no — Pope's translation is superior. Entirely." William said, "One ought not expect a translation to be the same as the original. Pope is the best poet of the group."

"I prefer more direct translations. Especially German translations. They know Homer." Mr. Gardiner shrugged good naturedly. "I assume they do — you could tell me how close Johann Voss's work comes to the original. I care not. In translation Homer is both entertaining and profound."

Since the meal William and Mr. Gardiner argued the merits of translations of Homer with an increasing gusto as both drank the strong beer they'd had brought up from the inn's cellars. Mrs. Gardiner sewed and listened with a frown on her face.

Elizabeth watched the endlessly fascinating changes and features of William's face. She sat as close to William as she dared in her relatives' presence.

She liked that it had been her place to feed him.

William had no peevishness in his manner. He only showed her a grateful smile and words of thanks. She'd brought up one piece of cheese or fruit up to his lips after another. Each time he took a bite he chewed as though in ecstasy at the flavor.

He wasn't even able to remember eating real food before today.

When they tired of Homer, Mr. Gardiner told William an old story he repeated for most new acquaintances, and which Elizabeth had heard several dozen times. When Mr. Gardiner reached the punchline, both men laughed happily. William's laughs had an odd chesty quality to them, as the muscles in his abdomen were so weak.

After the laughter fell away, Mr. Gardiner said, "But what to do next. Hiring a doctor is against your advice?"

"Too great danger. Far too great."

"Yes, yes," Mr. Gardiner murmured.

"All that is wrong with me, I believe, is that I was enchained in a single position for many years. All the muscles not used to hold me up have atrophied. My person shall regain its natural strength with speed as the proper circulation of potentia is restored."

"And Elizabeth's hand will not be harmed by delay either." Mr. Gardiner pulled his chair next to William's knee and drew a little picture with his finger on the blanket of Elizabeth's bed. "West towards Chester and then south, along the Welsh border and away from the Great Northern Road. A ferry to Bristol — distant from here, and a grand enough city that we can safely consult a physician. I know a man we can trust who treats those of my company in the port. An easy turnpike to London; London to Longbourn, and Elizabeth's home and father. Do you agree to that course?"

William nodded. Elizabeth noticed that while he kept his nods small and controlled, he could move his head more easily than when he'd nodded earlier in the day.

"One problem solved. Two." Mr. Gardiner rubbed his hands together with the satisfied smile he always showed when settling upon a plan. "How will you travel without being seen?"

"That presents no difficulty; Elizabeth's working of invisibility is astonishing in its strength. I have never seen her like. No one without potentia would ever detect my presence if you seat me in the carriage next to you, and few with potentia would have the skill for there to be any possibility."

Elizabeth glowed. He praised her so highly. It meant something in front of her family.

"I am not sure—" Mr. Gardiner gestured his hand up and down William's body. "Should you not be kept at an incline rather than traveling in your condition? Our carriage is well built, and there are workings upon it, but none of those spells you aristocrats use to smooth the road away. Perhaps a wagon, so you can lie down…"

"I shall be uncomfortable, but discomfort is a matter with no import."

Mr. Gardiner stood and ticked off with his fingers: "The doctor, where to travel, how to hide you, how the invalid shall be cared for — some of my clothes for you to wear. Even Lizzy can expand them when they just need to become a little larger — though the fit will not flatter."

Elizabeth blushed at her uncle's tease. She'd always been famously bad at household spells. Today she minded being teased even less than usual. She had succeeded at her true goal.

"Now to set our plans in motion." Mr. Gardiner stood to walk to the door. "I'll order the servants to ready the carriage so that we can leave at dawn tomorrow."

"Wait." William darted his eyes out the dark window. "At what date did you plan to leave?"

"Day after tomorrow. My wife's family is connected to this village, and the old graveyard and mausoleum are to be visited."

"There have been no messages to you, or letters."

"It would seem passing strange if I left suddenly." Mr. Gardiner nodded. "Better to not rush about like a frightened rabbit and draw your enemy's eyes to our movement. At least if you are so well hidden as you believe."

After saying this Mr. Gardiner sat back down and wiped the back of his hand over his forehead. "I swear I shall not rest comfortable till back in my house in the City."

William closed his eyes and leaned his head back. He must be exhausted, and he'd been well fed and drunk some. He would soon start to doze. Elizabeth wanted to take the hand that rested outside of his covers and hold it while his breathing evened out.

Even though she could not hold his hand, William fell asleep.

Mrs. Gardiner tapped Elizabeth on the shoulder and gestured her head to the door. "You shall sleep on the rug in our room tonight."

"What if he needs something? Water, or other help?" Elizabeth blushed thinking of bedpans and the like. "Someone should stay in the room with him."

"William will wait. Or he can call, and I will serve him."

"But…"

Mrs. Gardiner grabbed Elizabeth around her upper arm and pulled her to her feet. "You are not married, affianced, or with any formal relationship." She pulled Elizabeth out of the room. "I do not understand this magical connection claimed betwixt you — if Bennet and a professional doctor thought you delusional, my lack of understanding is not ignorance. My husband demands we help Mr. William, so we shall help him. You will not sleep in the same room as a gentleman while within my care."

Mr. Gardiner offered a wry smile and patted Elizabeth on the shoulder, and he pulled several fluffy feather pillows from the inn's wardrobe to lay out for her use. "Best not to annoy her."

Elizabeth's presence in the room meant that there would be no possibility for the Gardiners to engage in marital intercourse this night. Perhaps an extra way of Mrs. Gardiner showing her displeasure with her husband over being forced to protect William.

Elizabeth slept poorly. A tight cord between them begged her to be next to William. And now they were separated by two walls and the sitting room.

William slept. He didn't need her now, and her uncle was so accommodating that she felt extremely guilty at the idea of sneaking to William's room and disobeying them.

In Elizabeth's dreams, she embraced William in a sensual manner, trying to touch and hold his body, and he took some necessary essence from her, and he needed her touch to survive, and she needed something from him likewise to survive.


	7. Chapter 7

She was close.

William stirred awake. There was such a great difference in his situation. So many changes, and new unbounded heights to mount. She was near, on the other side of thin wooden walls. Too great a distance for his comfort.

He should be comfortable despite such a great change. William repeated to himself what he had said to Mr. Gardiner the day previous: A gentleman should always be prepared to face the greatest changes in circumstance with equanimity.

With a long gust of air William let go of the tension in his belly. He was rescued. She had rescued him, and her name was Elizabeth Bennet.

William tried to lift himself. She was close, and he needed to see Elizabeth again.

His arms refused to cooperate, and the muscles ached. With a pained groan, William collapsed back in the bed. His mouth was dry. William could smell his own sweat and he needed a bath terribly. He needed to relieve himself, and he would need to ask one of the family for help, because they didn't want any of the servants to know he was here.

The room was unpleasantly warm as the window had been closed last night due to rain, but the summer heat meant it needed to be aired.

There was a sickness in William when he tried to shape potentia. The odd painful sensation was worse than yesterday. The weakened fluvia had atrophied so they could not support the full flows of his potentia. This felt like a deep itch that could not be scratched. The itch was everywhere.

William stared at the ceiling.

Hungry. Again.

Food tasted so good. That stew had been amazing, and the smell from the bacon in the kitchen now was just as good. He knew he loved bacon, and smoked fish, and he could smell both. There was slightly burnt coffee on the air. He had forgotten coffee in his prison. And tea, he wanted both tea and coffee. A rich strong tea with lots of cream. And he would sip the coffee in ecstasy, even if they had made it poorly.

The cheese last night. William closed his eyes and remembered the sensations of pure sensual pleasure as he had eaten the inn's simple meal last night.

And despite the glory of last night's food, he was desperately hungry now. The stomach was truly like a begging dog.

The hewn and varnished oaken panels of the ceiling had a reddish color in the morning light. He liked Mr. Gardiner. That surprised William. A tradesman.

Elizabeth. His Elizabeth looked so beautiful, that first time he saw her in the shining white light. An angel.

Elizabeth's bed was soft and comfortable, and the pillows faintly smelled of Elizabeth's perfume. William focused his potentia into his nose so that he could experience her comforting scent more clearly. He filtered away the scent of the cooking food, so he would not be overcome by his hunger.

William's pillow was made with fluffy feathers, but he'd lain here so long without being able to shift himself about. There was a crick in his back, but the thought of using his muscles to roll over hurt more. A feather poked out of the pillow and scratched lightly at the back of his neck.

Very hungry.

Don't pay attention to that.

William focused on Elizabeth's scent. She smelled just like that when they had embraced as they flew.

He fell into a light doze.

He woke when Elizabeth touched his hand. She pulled away with a flaming face. "I apologize, I just…"

"I am glad to see you." He smiled happily at her. As beautiful as memory. More beautiful. Everything was better now that she was next to him. Her hand snuck to touch his again, and that flow of potentia betwixt them comfortingly strengthened.

She smiled back.

William's throat and mouth were dry, and he thought his breath smelt dank. "Might I have some water?"

"Of course! Of course!" She had such a happy look. She blushingly took water from a carafe on a side table, and she held him up so he could drink easily. She had to slip her arm under his head, and hold him up with the wrist and forearm, as her injured hand still did not have the strength needed to grip him. This almost embrace had a deeply sensual quality.

Her hands were delicate, her nose long and thin, her eyelashes long and her brows black and sharply defined. She had a few moles just on the left side of her face, and a dimple on the right.

Elizabeth's wide eyes frankly studied him as openly as he studied her. He wondered what she saw, but she did not seem displeased.

"Where are your aunt and uncle?"

Elizabeth gestured her head towards the open door. "Mrs. Gardiner is in the sitting room, sewing. Do you wish to speak to her?"

"Might you call for breakfast? My body needs meat and the like to recover."

She laughed. "Of course. Of course."

"And bring both tea and coffee."

When she returned with food, Elizabeth brought with her a little table for eating in bed, and she helped William sit fully up. She was strong and augmented her muscles with her glowing potentia.

Elizabeth glowed.

Cooked eggs, salted herring, several rolls. William ravenously ate the eggs and herring, and then he ate the entire tub of butter. A pile of perfectly cooked bacon.

"Must I call up more food?" Elizabeth laughed. "I figured out how to order all of the food we need for you without the staff becoming suspicious we are hiding a man — they think there is an additional servant with us who has fallen ill. My uncle does not keep a valet with him, but now they believe he does. Strange how fragile memory is, that such a simple working can change commoners' minds and hide any suspicion."

"Are you certain you did the working properly?"

Elizabeth described in detail how she had called upon the working and precisely what she had done to ensure that the working would not be discovered by another gentleman who made a cursory inspection of the minds of the inn's staff.

"A very fine job. Much as I would do — I dislike shaping the minds of commoners for my own purposes. Whether noble or base, a man's mind should be his sanctuary. We often are too arrogant, too casual in how we treat those beneath us. Something of your aunt's opinion is in me with that. Yet, it is no business of those employed at this establishment that I am present here. They shall be paid for their labor and for their rooms. It does no harm for them to not know. I do not trust our precautions, but we have done the best we could."

"I feel confident. My precautions will prove enough. I always felt something in me, guiding me in the direction I must go. This intuition promises me success. I trust it."

"I trust you, thus I trust your intuition. You are brave, strong and cunning."

William absently rubbed his finger over the dirty plate and licked the grease off his fingertips. He flushed as he realized Elizabeth had watched this unmannered behavior.

"You need more food." Elizabeth grinned at him mischievously. "Fortunately, you have me to retrieve it for you."

With a laugh Elizabeth walked off through the door, her dress flapping around her legs. She wore a light summer dress covered with little flowers. A hint of her perfume lingered behind her.

Being fed by her was a happiness like that of a Musselman in paradise.

She returned with another platter piled high. William ravenously ate, and he was yet a little hungry after the food was gone, but this time he said nothing. Instead they sat together and talked.

"Tell me about your father," William spoke into one of the occasional silences that entered the conversation. "I am…concerned by what you said about what he did when you told him about our connection. What happened? For how many weeks were you bled?"

"It is not important — and he did as he thought best."

"Tell me more. Lizzy…I would know everything about you."

"The way you breathe out my name. I enjoy it."

"We are not proper when we converse so intimately, yet—"

"You are very proper. You sat up stiff and straight and needed to talk to my aunt and uncle with that 'I am a great gentleman' voice."

"He replied with his determined tradesman voice."

"I am glad you enjoyed talking to him."

"An excellent man. Resourceful and stable in crisis. I like him. But your aunt does not like me — I am worried. She worries for her children, as a mother should, more than anything else… Perhaps she will ignore her husband's will and—"

"You worry Mrs. Gardiner will seek out our enemy and betray you to him? Nonsense. We adore each other."

"Family can betray. Those closest can betray."

"Is that what happened to you?"

The warm breeze rustled the open curtains, pleasantly blowing over William's face. "Likely."

Elizabeth studied the checkered pattern of his quilt. William had been dressed after breakfast with Mr. Gardiner's help in a proper embroidered banyan, though the pattern did not continue to the bottom, where Elizabeth had expanded it.

"Mrs. Gardiner will like you, eventually. She is angry, I did lie to them. My uncle understands better what it means to me that you are real. She can't understand the same. Her family never had any magic. She will like you through and through, soon enough."

"Did…our connection cause you pain?"

"I have never, ever been unhappy. Rescuing you has been the best thing I have done with my life. Almost no women have the opportunity to do anything with great value. I am completely happy."

"You suffered."

"Papa's fault! And mine a little. If I'd been rational and studied the matter so I could explain what I felt in a learned mode…maybe he would have listened. You might have been rescued then."

William moved avoiding quick movements that caused pain, and he put his fingers over her hand resting on the warm coverlet. Her knuckles were warm and dry. He softly rubbed his thumb over the silken skin between her thumb and forefinger.

"Papa always said he saw me more as a son than a daughter." Elizabeth laughed softly. "Would he have responded the same way if I'd been a son? Probably. Science had spoken. I told him there was a trapped man I felt an inexplicable bond to, and that we must rescue him. Papa interrogated me closely, and we went to London to be examined by a physician. The physician detected no bond between us with his 'diagnostic workings'."

Elizabeth almost spat the last words.

William rubbed her hand softly.

She placed her other hand over his and played their fingers together. It felt right for their bodies to be connected in this little way.

Her aunt stood up in the other room and fiddled with something. Mrs. Gardiner sat back down and hummed.

"And then?" William asked softly. Neither of them had moved their hands when they heard Mrs. Gardiner moving.

"The doctor? He diagnosed hallucinations due to a surfeit of magic. He prescribed that I be bled of my magic twice a week until they ceased." Elizabeth spoke in a hollow wooden voice. Her hand gripped his more tightly. "I feared I would be too late. I always feared that. I begged Papa. I did." She looked into his eyes. "I made my best effort to convince him. I wept, I argued, I explained. I gave Papa every detail of the dreams where I saw you, I told him about how I was sure you were in the North, I told him everything."

"How long did they bleed you?"

"A full year — you have been drained, what I suffered was nothing. I stopped growing, I was listless and lost all energy, I did not play anymore. Eventually I lied convincingly enough that Papa believed me when I told him I felt nothing of our bond anymore."

"Oh."

"He never considered I might have been right once the physician told him there was nothing there. I shouldn't blame him, but…"

William squeezed her hand again.

"I swear the doctor enjoyed draining me. There was that little jar, like the pool that your magic was drawn into, and the water was infused with it. My magic sucked away as I became weaker and weaker. Twice a week for a year."

They were quiet, just their hands on each other. The air blew through the window, bringing the smell of flowers and grass and leaves. It stirred Elizabeth's dress.

"I do not like doctors." William looked at the green leaves waving outside the window. "I suspect a doctor greatly disappointed me once. It is strange to know so much about so many things, yet so little about myself."

"I know a great deal about you. You are good. You are proud. You are used to being capable. I admire all of you."

"You can understand me, though I barely understood myself?" William thought that if he judged himself through Elizabeth's eyes he would see a quite exaggerated view of his own virtues.

"What is it like for you? It must be so strange…I would be terrified if I could not remember anything of the world."

William shook his head. "I remember a great deal of the world. I only cannot remember anything about myself."

"What does that feel like?"

"I hardly know. I have deep seated impulses and habits whose nature I can only guess…" William trailed off. "I desperately did not want to be seen lying in a girl's bed by a pair of tradesmen. So I forced myself to sit up to be presentable—"

"You should not have."

William laughed. "I must have a pretty notion of myself for that to be my instinct. Your aunt and uncle are dissimilar to the expectation I possessed of such people. My image of the tradesman prepared me to meet a pair with obsession for money and other foolishness. They are entirely unlike that. Your uncle is as proud and well-read as I am."

"Of course he is. He is my uncle." Elizabeth showed her pearly teeth as she grinned at him. "I am pleased you like him. Does it frighten you, to suddenly face all the sensations of the whole world at once?"

"I cannot be scared while I am near you, and nothing but a separation has any fear for me. I depend on you."

"Why then did you begin to say you would go on your own yesterday?"

"As a matter of honour, I ought not entangle a gentlewoman in a risky endeavor. My sole goal should be to protect you."

"Foolish, manly man. Men think they have to always take every unpleasantness for honour. We women want to bear our share of the burdens and dangers. We wish to be in danger together with you — I'm glad you are so sick and helpless."

William replied drily, "That is a harsh lesson."

"Your…masculinity can only learn with harsh lessons."

"My masculinity?" William spoke in a low teasing voice. His stomach jolted a little when Elizabeth's face went bright and red.

"You know what I am speaking of."

Mrs. Gardiner in the other room stood up, making a sound. This time Elizabeth sat back quickly, taking her hand back. William felt satisfied at the red look on her face, and the way she glanced at his torso and looked away with a blush.

After a silence Elizabeth asked, "Do you like whist?"

"I have no idea." William smiled at how she wished to end this awkward charged moment. He liked how sensible of his presence she was.

"Excellent — time for a game." She called to her aunt and uncle, "We need you both so we can make a set for whist."

Over the course of the day the itch deep beneath William's skin in his fluvia turned into an endless ache. It distracted him from everything but Elizabeth. He felt warm and despite his hunger nauseated. In each of his limbs, and in his toes, and in his stomach there was a fullness, and a strange diffuse pain.

He said nothing to Elizabeth, because she would worry and might wish to call a physician.

That night Elizabeth was pulled by her aunt to sleep in their room again, and William was left alone on the bed. The pain grew; nausea and shivers.

For an hour William stared at the blackened window curtains and the glimmering stars in the canopy of the sky. The room stifled him, but he couldn't use his will to shape potentia to call up a breeze to cool himself. His stomach rose up, and he clenched his jaw to keep from vomiting.

The pain before Elizabeth rescued him was worse. This was not bad. Not important.


	8. Chapter 8

Elizabeth woke with a start.

William needed her.

She sat up on the small mattress placed on the floor that was used by wealthy guests who wished to have one of their servants present in the room at all times to help them. The room was completely dark. A musty scent from the sweat which soaked into her night clothes during the hot summer night. She had not had an easy sleep.

Her uncle breathed in a low nasal snore and despite having begun the night on the opposite side of the bed, Mrs. Gardiner now slept entwined with her husband.

The mattress on the floor was too thin and Elizabeth's bum and back hurt from sleeping on it.

She needed to go to William.

Elizabeth stood silently. She stared at the bed and decided not to cast an illusion over her mattress, to make it seem as though she were still there. That would be a lie to her aunt and uncle. She was doing nothing wrong.

Their bond told her William needed her. She would leave the door to his room open when she entered it.

Elizabeth softly padded to the room. A small spell kept the door from creaking as it opened, and she silenced the sounds of her footsteps. That was simply being polite, to keep from waking her relatives.

She entered his room. William moaned. With a toss of her finger Elizabeth cast a ball of light so she could see him.

William's hair was wet and plastered to his forehead. The sheet around him had soaked through with his sweat. Elizabeth opened the window so a breeze could blow through.

She placed her hand on William's forehead. He burned with a high fever. But as her hand sat on his forehead, painful magical bubbles popped into her hand from his skin.

William let out a long sigh. "Lizzy…"

She wanted to touch more of him. So, following the dreamlike urging of her mind, and the sense that this was right, Elizabeth crawled into the bed and put her arms around him. Once she held William he sighed and shifted his body closer against hers.

His magic bubbled through his skin into her constantly now that they were so close. That should not happen. The circulation of magic through his body must be damaged if pools of magic gathered within him.

They lay entwined for the next hour. Elizabeth's heart beat in fear for William. She was not sure if his skin had cooled, or if her own skin had grown warmer. But he fell into a deeper sleep, so her closeness must help, perhaps because his excess potentia flowed into her.

Elizabeth lingered between sleep and waking, and strange images passed vividly through her mind. With a start she sat up and saw that the sun had risen, shining through the opened window. Her aunt and uncle would wake, and they would complain if they saw her limbs covering William's.

She did not want to leave him. She felt so good and comfortable and right when she lay next to him. He would feel sicker again once she left.

After she stood, Elizabeth put her good hand upon his forehead again.

William still had a fever.

Elizabeth walked to the window and looked at the rosy dawn lighting the thin clouds. A pleasant chill blew through the curtains. The sun slowly rose over the horizon, shining into her eyes. Birds sang, giving a loud endless chorus of happy chirps. The air smelled fresh.

She left the room, and quickly changed into a light summer dress so she could bring breakfast in case William woke hungry again. As she did her aunt and uncle stirred themselves awake. "Already up, Lizzy?"

"William is ill. He has a fever."

"You should have woken me to go with you to check on him," Mrs. Gardiner snapped. "Promise to not enter his room alone again."

"I shall make no such promise. But I left the door ajar, and we did nothing to be ashamed of. I am going to get breakfast. He was so hungry all yesterday."

"Lizzy."

Elizabeth ignored her aunt, and she exited their suite of rooms and went across the hall to the kitchen to give their orders. Piles of seared meat and steaming eggs were piled into the skillet by the cook. The smell of the bacon was thick and made her feel as hungry as William had been. It was nice feeding him.

She would miss having the task of helping William to eat when he could feed himself.

She left the cook to finish preparing their tray and returned to the room. Mrs. Gardiner talked quietly to her half-dressed uncle. Mrs. Gardiner said, "William has a decided fever. When I shook him awake he moaned and vomited. We do not think we can travel today."

"Oh! Is he awake?"

Elizabeth rushed into the room. William's face was pale. He looked at her wanly from the bed. The sheet had been pulled off the bed and stuck in a clump on the edge of the floor by Mrs. Gardiner. Elizabeth faintly smelled the vomit. He shivered.

"William…you are sicker. I thought…"

"I am almost well. A mere inconvenience. Once my body is used to potentia again it shall go away."

"I will call a physician. It is time."

He held out his hand to her, and Elizabeth took it. She felt that bubbling flow of their potentia working together again. He smiled at her. "I am perfectly well in your presence."

"Where does it hurt?"

"Everywhere. A surfeit of potentia in the muscles and organs. My fluvia must have atrophied along with my muscles."

"Fluvia? You mean the veins for our magic — I am worried."

"Elizabeth…" He smiled softly at her. "I am glad you are here."

"What if…what if you do need a doctor."

"I am not dying. If I were, a rural doctor would be outside his skills to help me in any case."

Mrs. Gardiner and Mr. Gardiner entered the room. Mr. Gardiner said, "Eh, Mr. William how do you feel? I think we will not travel today while you are in this state."

"Merely a little uncomfortable."

"Only a little uncomfortable?" Mr. Gardiner's eyes twinkled. "You…ah, you relieved yourself through your mouth."

William laughed.

"If you need a physician," — Mr. Gardiner patted William on the shoulder — "we'll send for the best, otherwise rest a day or two more. Most illnesses pass off on their own."

The food arrived, the scent of bacon and eggs made William perk up. He looked towards the food with a smile. "Despite my earlier nausea, I would rather like food."

Elizabeth helped him to eat. She had become expert at feeding and helping him drink tea or ale, even though she had to use her left hand. He sometimes had an expression, as though it hurt to force food into his stomach, but he was too hungry not to.

Each time Elizabeth touched him, the little bubbles of accumulated magic dissolved from William to her. But not enough. Even when she had been pressed against him in the bed it had not been enough for all of the accumulated potentia to flow into her.

After the torment of having been bled for a year, it seemed to Elizabeth like a heresy to suggest bleeding, even in her own mind. But William probably should be bled. Again.

But the process to do so was more complex than simply cutting a commoner's wrist open. If done wrong severe injuries could be caused. She should not try to do it on her own.

In any case Elizabeth did not know how to create a sucking cup, or its equivalent.

William vomited up half his meal an hour after breakfast. Elizabeth got on her hands and knees and cleaned the stinky half-digested acids out of the rug like a servant. She dared not call a maid.

Elizabeth had imagined her first days after rescuing William…differently. Oddly, like William himself, this was better than what she had imagined.

Heroics could include caring for a sick man without the help of a servant.

William lay back with his eyes closed. He was in pain. All of his body seemed full of discomfort.

Elizabeth spent the rest of the morning and the beginning of the afternoon reading to William. When the noon bells rang from the parish church, he did not eagerly ask for food, but Elizabeth thought he was still hungry as his body desperately needed the stuff from meat and food to rebuild itself at the pace his magic allowed.

A body wasn't like a cotton garment which a spell could make grow from the stuff floating in the air — though such garments were far inferior to one woven from grown cotton. Even with magic a person needed animal or plant matter to grow new muscles and skin.

The entire time Mrs. Gardiner sat in the room, frowning heavily at them both and knitting or reading her own book. It was clear that her aunt intended to ensure Elizabeth could engage in no intimate interludes with William.

She wanted to hold William's hand. She would feel better, and more importantly he would. Some of the magic that she was sure was pooling up in him, and causing his illness, would drain away.

They talked in low tones, and William rolled around to find a pleasant spot to lie. She repeatedly checked his temperature on his forehead, leaving her hand there as long as she thought her aunt would accept, just so she could touch him. His fever did not go as high as it had before she came to him in the morning, but he constantly was hot.

Early in the afternoon William fell asleep while she read to him.

The shaved curves of his thin face caught the high summer light. His hair was messily growing into a handsome fuzz after being burnt away like hers had been. She stared at him for a long time.

Mrs. Gardiner stood and put her hand on Elizabeth's shoulder, pulling her to her feet. She whispered, "He sleeps, there is no reason for your presence here."

In frustration at days of inactivity, Elizabeth stood and followed her aunt's advice. She left the room, though stepping further from him did not seem right. But she needed a walk. After telling her frowning aunt and her rather happier uncle her plan, she went to the door. Elizabeth pulled her blue bonnet off the rack next and arranged it flatteringly over her head. She pulled on a pair of summer sandals.

As she stepped out the door of the inn, Elizabeth had an idea. She had visited the nearby bookstore the evening they arrived at the inn, to distract herself from anxiety about her plan to search for William the next morning, and she purchased a guide to the area in hopes it would give her some information about William's location.

The owner had kindly spent ten minutes answering her questions before she bought the book which still sat on her nightstand next to William's head. The bookstore was well stocked. Surely she could find something there that would tell her how to help William, or at least warn them if he needed to be examined by a true physician without delay. He needed to be bled, most likely. Perhaps she could find a book describing the procedure.

When Elizabeth entered the friendly small bookstore, the bell rang as she opened and closed the door.

"Miss Bennet! Hullo, hullo again. Enjoyed the guide?" The bearded storekeeper with his large horn-rimmed spectacles smiled with friendship.

"Exceedingly. I looked all around a day past."

"Did you go to the east — something most strange occurred ten miles distant. Some flow of potentia, from a ley line perhaps, caused an explosion in a well pit no one knew was there. Rattled the windows in Snarestone, two miles distant. A big black bog was left where the well had been. Strange doings."

"In the opposite direction." Elizabeth tried to keep all nervousness from her laugh. "Which is a pity. That would have been quite exciting to experience."

"If not dangerous — but what sort of book do you look for today? Another guide, or perhaps a novel?"

"A matter of curiosity struck me recently. Have you books on medicine for the gentry that I might look at?"

"Of course. Of course." He pulled his ladder with him to the correct shelf and began pulling books down from the second to top shelf and handing them down to Elizabeth so she could set them on the table in the middle of the shop to look at. As he did so he said, "I heard you extended your stay. Could not leave the town — prettiest in England."

The smile of the shopkeeper seemed too knowing to Elizabeth. As though he could see through her.

"Enjoy the country." He continued, "The loveliest weather of the year is during this month. Are any of these books to your liking?"

Elizabeth thumbed for the next half hour through the man's offerings. Several were not even written by gentlemen. A few were lists of house remedies for minor matters. None useful.

She pushed the seat back and slumped in it. Upon her honour, she never had looked so dejectedly at a pile of fifteen books.

Elizabeth looked out the window. A cat sunned herself in the garden, ignoring a squirrel which ran up and down the tree behind it. A bee buzzed from flower to flower on the windowsill. A cart creaked up the long single road which the village was built along. The bookstore filled with the musty smell of paper and parchment and there was that tingle in her spine from active magical workings. Many books had spells placed upon them by their makers or owners.

She should get back to William. Perhaps he'd woken up and needed her again.

Maybe he was better already, and she would see him healthy and at a normal temperature again, and she would no longer feel scared.

Elizabeth pushed the chair back with a scratchy grind over the wooden slats of the floor.

"Did you find what you wished, Miss Bennet?"

Elizabeth grimaced and shook her head. "Have you any other books on medicine?"

The bookseller shrugged. "Not that you could use."

Elizabeth felt a surge of excitement and a feeling of rightness. "What do you have?"

"There is a book left by an old gentleman. He'd been the doctor in these parts for many years — his heir sold everything he'd owned and I took a chance on buying much of the library. Likely this book has the information you wish, but in Latin."

William would be able to read it! "Might I see it?"

"Of course, Miss."

The owner shuffled along the shelves tapping the back of different volumes and humming. He took a heavy volume from a high shelf. It hummed with magic when brought close to Elizabeth. She eagerly opened the book.

As promised the tome was written in Latin.

Elizabeth paged through the volume. This was the only medical book which appeared to be actually learned in the store. She would either return with it, or with nothing.

Such a pretty drawing!

Elizabeth studied a detailed anatomical drawing in the middle of the book. She recognized it from some lesson she'd been given as a child concerning the nodal points of a gentleman's flows of potentia, but this drawing was far more detailed and enchanted so it could be seen with minute details if mage sight was used to magnify it.

Elizabeth pulled the thick volume close to her body and asked, "What cost?"

"Quite an expensive book. Not for less than four pounds. I'll not part with it for less."

"Four pounds!" Despite her expression of dismay, he had offered an almost reasonable price. Elizabeth had gone with her father on book collecting expeditions many times. This volume, in addition to being large and old, had magic infused into it to protect it from decay.

"An old volume. Quite valuable."

"How can it be so valuable when it is written in a language no one can read?"

The shopkeeper raised his eyebrows. Elizabeth blushed.

He asked, "Can you read Latin?"

"A little."

"Perhaps rather than bargaining me down and trying to rob me by getting a price far below the value of this book, you ought to take your pick from one of those volumes." He pointed at the useless pile Elizabeth already rejected.

The entirety of her remaining allowance and savings was three pounds and twelve shillings.

"I do not care that it is in Latin. The illustrations will be of use! Not more than three pounds. The best I can offer."

"I must insist on three and fifteen at least. You could ask your uncle for more money."

"My uncle knows I do not read Latin." Elizabeth smiled with a sweet expression that made it clear what reply she expected if she made such a ridiculous request to him.

"I will not give it to you at three simple."

Elizabeth sighed. She wanted the book. "Will three and ten do for you? That is almost the entirety of what I possess."

The cash was handed over and Elizabeth walked down the cobblestoned streets back to their inn. The book was awfully heavy, but she had a good feeling about it. Elizabeth whistled a pleased tune as she walked.


	9. Chapter 9

William woke thrashing again.

His forehead was soaked with sweat. He'd had such a pleasant dream. Elizabeth's body against his. She had been cold in the dream, and his temperature had left him. He had become healthy through her presence.

Mrs. Gardiner sat next to the bed with a needle and thread, her fingers efficiently embroidering a flower into a silken handkerchief. Elizabeth was not there.

He felt an odd combination of ravenous hunger and nausea. His throat burned with a need for water. He croaked, getting Mrs. Gardiner's attention, and he gestured at his throat.

She lifted the water, and poured it into his throat, though she was not nearly as gentle or concerned as Elizabeth.

"Elizabeth? Where is she?"

She raised her eyebrows. "I thought you would know."

"Me? Why would I know? I was asleep."

"Your connection does not tell you?"

Despite the skepticism in her voice, William took Mrs. Gardiner's implied advice. He closed his eyes and felt the thread of the connection. She had been so close when he fell to sleep. But not close enough.

She walked towards them, and not from a great distance. Perhaps two hundred yards. In just a minute or two she would be back with him.

William let out a deep breath and slumped sickly into the bed, happy to know she would return soon. "She is coming back. And she is pleased about something."

Mrs. Gardiner tilted her head and frowned.

"That direction." William lifted his arm — a task already far easier than two days before — and gestured weakly.

"I hope she hasn't done anything else foolish that will get us all killed, and my children as well. I never expected Lizzy to be so much trouble. To be so irresponsible. I liked her."

"She does what she needs to."

"Your danger should be your own, not brought upon us."

The door to the suite of rooms opened, and Elizabeth smilingly bounded into the bedroom. She carried a large thick book with a buzz of potentia about it.

She grinned and put it down on the bed next to his knees. "Perhaps this will tell me how to treat you!"

The thick dark leather-bound book had the title embossed in gold on its side: Salutem Patricium.

"You read Latin?" William knew his voice was surprised. Women simply were not taught the language. He smiled as she blushed, imagining some odd girlish fancy that led her to drill until she could speak the language.

"Only a little — I tried to learn. I thought it would help me. Papa refused to teach me anything, so I stole his old grammars and dictionaries. I didn't learn much, and I did not find it very useful."

He smiled at her. "Why did you purchase that book, if you cannot read it?"

"I had a good feeling about it!"

The reply was growled out, as if she expected to be challenged over this. William smiled at her. "The best of reasons. I trust your good feelings. May I see the tome?"

Elizabeth carefully laid the book in his lap. William frowned at the large tome. It was a thick book, with fine thin paper that had been enhanced with potentia to prevent tears. There were more than a thousand pages, with two columns of print on each.

His eyes wavered from his illness, and his head ached. William did not think that he could even hold the book open to flip through it, let alone to read it.

But Elizabeth was here to help him. He was glad she was. William smiled at her. "Might you help me?"

She put her hands under the book so he just had to cautiously flip through the book. William first went to the table of contents. The portion of the book dealing with disorders of the fluvia was near the middle.

As William read, the itch in his muscles turned to an unending pain. He wanted to vomit again, and was glad that despite his hunger he had not called for more food when he had awoken.

His hands shook and shivered. He ached and craved for Elizabeth to touch him. Like in his dream of this morning, when she had slept in the bed next to him. He would be well if she did that.

William flipped through the pages. Each time he changed a page, something seemed to leave his arm making it harder to lift and flip one more page. This was ridiculous. He was an adult man; he ought to be able to read a book. Even very small children could read books.

To disguise his weakness, William said to Elizabeth, "You are quite as capable in principle of using Latin as any gentleman. The first part of your complaint has more merit than the second."

"You think gentlemen should cease writing books in that absurd language?"

"The head of a family will find use in it, as much of the old wardings are inscribed in Latin. Translation misses the delicacies and intricacies — that is what eludes your uncle about Homer — however constructing new incantations in the old language is a matter of fashion not function. I rather think writing new workings in English or French would be preferred, as less educated gentlemen cannot use Latin, and the expense of providing such education to retainers can be great. Though Latin is quite beautiful. La bella lingua latina."

"I had not thought of that — I hardly understood what was the point — just any gentleman worth the name is taught Latin. Papa always said."

William spasmed and acid rose, burning up his throat and up to his mouth. He swallowed it back down. He said nothing about the nausea. Lizzy was too worried. And Mrs. Gardiner was there. If only Lizzy would touch him again. Her hands were a few inches above him, tantalizingly.

The line of potentia connecting them. It was almost visible. He just needed her to touch him.

He wanted Mrs. Gardiner to leave.

William pretended to read the section on fluvia. Elizabeth peered at the book with him hovering next to the bed. Her hand sometimes brushed against his hand. Each time he felt better.

She took his hand and squeezed and held it openly.

"Lizzy!" Mrs. Gardiner started from her seat.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, but she did not let go of his hand. The two women glared at each other. Elizabeth said softly, "I think our bond needs touch to function best."

The woman sneered. "You think? Holding the hand of a gentleman to whom you have no recognizable connection is the behavior of…of…of an irredeemable lightskirt. Lizzy, you behave as quite a different sort of girl than one I wish to be connected to."

She angrily left the room.

Elizabeth stroked William's hand, and she ran her injured hand up and down his shoulder and around his neck. The pain lessened everywhere she touched.

He found the section on bleeding, since he suspected that was the treatment he needed. William flipped from page to page. There was a discussion of the cases where bleeding the excess potentia was the best treatment, written in a defensive tone.

There were many tales of physicians using bled potentia to feed demons, or for other infernal purposes. This created a distaste of the practice among gentlemen, despite its medical significance.

"Lizzy," she looked up from her attempt to read the book with him, "It must have terrified you — when your father had you bled in that way."

"Oh! That is what the chapter is talking about. Sanguius. I recognized the word. It is horrible to say after everything but…is it possible, do you think…?"

"That I may need to be bled? Yes. Most likely that would relieve my symptoms."

"How can you speak so calmly of it, after what was done to you?"

"My experience is so fantastical and strange and beyond the ordinary that it has no bearing on the medical use of bleeding. That a man used excessive bleeding of potentia to attack me gives me no distaste for using a proper extent to heal."

"Ah." Elizabeth frowned. "It seems wrong to suggest it."

William sympathetically touched her hand. It was hard to read. Little spots swam in front of his eyes.

"I do not wish to talk about how I was bled again and again — do you think you should be bled? I can try, but what if I make a mistake — we would remove only a little magic."

William barely heard her. His stomach felt wrong. He tried to swallow the rising gorge back.

Elizabeth said something further, which he could not hear.

Why did he hurt so much? Pain was everywhere, except in his hands, because Elizabeth had been holding them, and on his forehead, because she touched him there to check his temperature.

She took his cheeks. "You are burning up. Worse than ever."

What little liquid was in his stomach was vomited over her dress.

He was helpless and disgusting. Rather than recoiling she held his head against her chest. "William. Can I now call a physician? I thought we would learn something from this book."

Elizabeth continued to embrace him. Being held against her in this way allowed his head to clear, the trapped reservoirs of potentia bubbling away into her healthy body. Perhaps all he really needed was to be held by her.

"Just press yourself against me. Perhaps press your potentia into me. It is obvious. We cannot be physically separate."

Elizabeth wetly smiled. She climbed onto the mattress beside him and pressed her body against his. He felt a deep relief, as the pain in his back eased away, leaving aches deeper inside, but lessening still.

She pressed her hand on his stomach, and she pulled her potentia into her hands. She did what he had suggested, and projected her potentia into his stomach. This was less invasive than a bleeding, rather like pushing a finger deep in his belly, but softly enough to not bruise the delicate organs. Her touch was so delicate.

The potentia around her hands operated like a lodestone to iron, breaking up the pools in his intestines and drawing them into her hands and then her healthy fluvia.

"Does that…" There was a blush in Elizabeth's voice. William heard it as his eyes were closed in relief. "Does that help you? Do you feel better when I do that?"

"Divine."

"Elizabeth, enough." Mrs. Gardiner reentered the room with Mr. Gardiner. "You will not fondle that gentleman. I will not be pushed so far."

However, Elizabeth only spoke to William. "This morning. When I rested next to you, you slept much easier."

"I had thought that was a dream."

"Elizabeth Bennet. It is clear I cannot trust you." Mrs. Gardiner grabbed Elizabeth's arm to jerk her from the bed.

Angrily Elizabeth pulled her arm back. She spoke in a furious tone, "Away!"

The working immediately caught, and Mrs. Gardiner was pressed back against the wall by a concentrated wind.

William felt sick in his stomach to see this. He did not wish to damage Elizabeth's ties to her family. But he wanted her near more than anything.

"You use magic against me now?" Mrs. Gardiner ground her jaw.

"I will not move."

"You are a gentlewoman of good family, and my relation. Get off of that bed, and… heavens, if Mr. William is in so desperate need for a physician, we can just cart him, sick as he is, to a safe city in a matter of ten hours."

"Well Lizzy, I too expect to hear you explain yourselves." Mr. Gardiner tilted his head with an even expression.

William said, "My potentia has not drained well, due to the damage. Her potentia is similar so that it attracts mine — that must be part of why we possess this connection. When she touches me the potentia can flow through my skin into her healthy circulation. And when she presses her potentia into me, deeper reservoirs can be released, like miners cutting into an aquifer which then drains out. I can explain the theory at greater length now that I have been reminded of it." He tapped the book Elizabeth had purchased.

"And my niece must sit on your bed and touch you everywhere for this procedure." Mr. Gardiner grinned, amused rather than angry. "When I was your age, I should have come up with such an illness."

"She attacked me." Mrs. Gardiner glared at Elizabeth.

Mr. Gardiner sighed. "Lizzy, that was not done well… You should have made your point differently."

"I'm not going to let you take me away from him! Not like Papa! Not again! I need to be here. If I don't stay near him, he'll get sicker and sicker."

Mr. Gardiner rubbed his hand over his jaw. "Yes. This is a matter like you and Bennet. He did not allow you to help Mr. William, and you had the right of the matter then. I shall not repeat Bennet's mistake. I shall trust you, Lizzy — but in return swear to yourself to not linger about Mr. William in an indecent matter unless you are confident there is medical necessity."

"It is necessary, at present it is."

"You are content with this?" Mrs. Gardiner glared at her husband. "We now act as the proprietors of a house of poor repute — you worried about what Bennet would think, and now you let her so intimately—"

With an ironical smile, Mr. Gardiner interrupted, "Dearest, it seems she won't move." Mr. Gardiner kissed his wife on the hair. "Bennet will think that he deserved such for having disbelieved Lizzy five years ago. I know him that well."

Mrs. Gardiner deflated. "I am done with you both. Done. I am going off on a walk. I hope we are not all dead when I return."

Mr. Gardiner nodded. He studied his wife. "Do have a pleasant time. And then we will ignore them together when you have calmed and returned."

Elizabeth systematically pressed her hands and potentia into William. First all around his chest and stomach, though most of his organs yet functioned cleanly, and then up and down both of his legs.

After Mrs. Gardiner stomped out of the room and began to put on her things for walking in the other room, Mr. Gardiner sat in the armchair Elizabeth had vacated when she climbed into the bed next to William. He rubbed his hand through his hair. "You could have managed that better. She will be in a right state with us both for some weeks — you deserve it."

"I know." Elizabeth spoke quietly.

"My health does require this." William wanted to take any guilt upon him, and reassure Mr. Bennet. "I am not attempting to take advantage—"

"Then don't."

William was not accustomed to being interrupted by a tradesman. But there was something about Mr. Gardiner that made it palatable. Almost pleasant, in a strange way.

Mrs. Gardiner finished dressing; she opened the door to the inn's hallway and closed it without giving them a final farewell.

"I will not," William replied, making the oath to himself as well as Mr. Gardiner.

"I'm more worried about Lizzy taking advantage of you." Mr. Gardiner laughed.


	10. Chapter 10

The next day Elizabeth woke to find William still ill, but recovering. The pools of potentia that she had drained into herself the previous day had partially refilled over the night, but he said he was far more comfortable than before. However he still had a fever, and his stomach was still tender.

Elizabeth fed him soft porridge with a little butter instead of the heavier foods that he craved. But though he admitted to nausea, he was not sick on this diet.

Mrs. Gardiner ignored them, and Mr. Gardiner trusted Elizabeth and William enough to leave the two to their own indulgences. So they were alone in the rooms for much of the morning and day while her aunt and uncle walked around. They sat close and talked.

William could discourse on so many topics. Shakespeare, warfare, the politics of the nation. Elizabeth loved to listen to him. No matter what the subject. She talked about her childhood. She told stories about Jane and Mr. Bingley — William had no prejudice against him, despite Mr. Bingley being one of the rare persons born with magic, despite only his mother being gentry — she told him about Kitty and Mary, and Lydia. About Mama. A little about Papa.

When Elizabeth talked about Papa, William asked, "How do you believe he shall react when you tell him about our connection?"

"I don't trust him." Elizabeth's throat seized with anxiety. "He will say what Mr. Gardiner thought at first — that you are an adventurer imposing on my naivete. He'll have me bled again. He will."

"Lizzy, you surely don't—"

"I'm still under his power! I don't trust him! I don't. He'll order you away, and I'll be bled, and unable to escape, or given chance to abjure the family name, and I'll never see you again. And you'll suffer too and be killed by your enemy without my help."

"Do you really think he will not believe you, even with what proofs we can offer?"

"We can't offer proofs! All the evidence is here in the Peaks and Papa never travels. I'll be forced to run from the family, sever my connection, and I will never see Jane, and Mary, Kitty and Lydia again. Or even Mama or any of my friends. I can't tell him. I won't. Don't tell him anything when you meet him."

"It feels wrong to hide such a thing from your father."

"He made you suffer. He did! Don't tell him! Don't! Swear you won't."

"Lizzy, I will never tell anyone anything you beg me not to. But Mr. Gardiner may be of a different mindset."

"I'll talk him round to my position. He doesn't think highly of my father's abilities, though they like each other's conversation."

Elizabeth left William's side and restlessly paced the room. She had sat too much and a desperate need to move was on her.

William tilted his head. "Gardiner does not? If Gardiner believes it best to not inform your father, I will withdraw my objection."

Without looking at him, Elizabeth nodded. She stared out at the orchard across the fence near the window.

Her breathing slowed as she calmed.

The apples were heavy and red on the trees. The summer breeze wafted through the open window, carrying warmth, the scent of flowers and pollen, and the buzzing of insects. A hawk wheeled high in the sky in a wide circle, reminding her of how she and William had flown so high, whilst he was yet naked.

"Lizzy, you ought to embark on a walk." William sat up in the bed, with the thick book on his lap which he carefully and slowly flipped through.

"I need to remain. You will get sick if I am not here to draw the excess out."

"I will not become sick in an hour or a half — my fluvia and portae are strengthening steadily, without the strain from too much pressure. You are buzzing with energy, and you have told me enough to know inactivity is not congenial to you."

"You ache everywhere."

"I will continue to ache whether you are here or not. You need exercise and air."

"You as well."

"I am yet too sick for proper exercise."

Elizabeth sighed. She wished she could sit on the bed next to him and take his hand, but she had promised Mr. Gardiner to do nothing improper which she did not believe was necessary. Just because it would comfort her did not make his touch necessary. "I don't want any distance from you."

"At no times do we genuinely separate — now walk."

A butterfly played with the blossoms of the flowers beneath the window. The sun was bright, but not too hotly. Green leaves, and on the other side of the inn there was that hill she had not yet seen the view from. She'd walked up two of the prominences near here, but not the third.

"Embark on your walk," William repeated. "Worry not that I will be bored without you — I require a nap. And I will be far better when you are back."

When Elizabeth walked into the warm afternoon air, the light filtered through fluffy white clouds and birds chirped merrily. The trees and grasses were green with summer. The flowers bloomed. She passed orchards and coppiced woods. A couple of enchanted scarecrows sat about the edges of fields. They jumped up and down and waved their wooden arms any time a bird came near to the produce.

Elizabeth knew through their bond that William was relaxed and almost asleep.

She had succeeded!

There had been little time to celebrate, but she had succeeded and rescued William!

In a rush Elizabeth took off down the country road away from the village at a run. Her shoes clapped along with a pounding accompaniment. Dirt, grass, several cows, and an amused farmer all watched her. Or at least the farmer.

She got out of sight around a bramble and then hopped up and down happily.

Elizabeth found a poorly tended rosebush with several blossoms in full bloom. She snipped off a flower with a quick spell and stripped away the thorns before fitting it against her clothing.

It was late afternoon, and the reddish sun sat dramatically in the corner of the sky. Elizabeth's run had burned off her nervous energy caused from sitting in a constrained environment all day. She wanted to return to William. He would wake from his nap soon.

She walked back along the road, swinging her bonnet back and forth. A thin stream ran next to the path and then through the woods, Elizabeth gaily jumped back and forth over the water several times.

When Elizabeth came within sight of the village, she stopped and watched a rabbit run across the road. It paused on top of a little hill, the tiny nose sniffing quickly and its ears and tail quivered. Elizabeth softly approached, willing her magic to keep her from startling the animal. When close, she carefully reached down and stroked the pretty fur, keeping the fluffy creature calm with an infusion of magic from her touch.

For a full minute she stayed like that, scratching the animal's ears before she stood and turned back towards the village.

Elizabeth jumped in surprise at a presence that she'd not noticed approach. A gentleman in fine clothing stood with an admiring look in his eyes.

He bowed elegantly and said in a smooth fashionable manner, "Miss, do not be scared. I do not mean to startle you. I simply paused to admire."

Elizabeth stared at him with wide eyes. She would find this man charming at any other place and time. He had the air of a gentleman, and a friendly expression on his face. The manner he had of holding himself would instantly set a lady at ease. He could compliment with naturalness and meaning. Unfortunately, his appearance was marred by a deep scar across his cheek.

All of that was noticed with a peculiar terrified intensity, for he was cloaked and shrouded with William's magic, smeared unnaturally all over him. And deep within him the demon slurped the magical force into itself.

The enemy was here.

Her heart beat terrible fast. William felt her peril through the bond. He would try to do something. He would be discovered and killed.

"Miss," Elizabeth heard suspicion in the smiling voice, "I usually am not so terrifying. Is something amiss?"

A coldness snapped into Elizabeth, and she infused herself with a sense of calm, completely ignoring the pain she felt from William as he probably forced himself to stand. "La! You startled me. You are quite out of the normal way."

She pressed her hand into her chest. It shocked Elizabeth how her voice had suddenly become steady and clear.

He smiled at her, radiating friendship, the effect infused with a subtle spell. "As are you. What do you here?"

"A trip to see my aunt's birthplace—" Elizabeth looked down as though ashamed. "She is not a gentlewoman."

"Oh." Elizabeth felt the disgust in the man's voice. But with a reassertion of his smooth manners he said, "One cannot choose one's family. I am searching for someone, a gentleman."

Elizabeth made herself laugh. Her voice sounded clear and rich. Now more than ever before in her life she needed to act perfectly and hide her emotions. She could not panic. "In this country? There is nothing of interest. I hardly think here is the likely place for a gentleman to go without good reason."

"This gentleman is odd. He might go to a place without any reason at all. You see…" The man lowered his voice. "I have my own shameful relation — he is a lunatic."

"No!" Elizabeth looked around, feigning terror. "Like Mad Jack the murderer? I am just a girl, and my aunt and uncle cannot defend me. We believed ourselves safe here! Are you sure he is near? We shall not stay another day!"

The man laughed and reached out his hand to touch Elizabeth's shoulder. In the focused state she was in, she did not cringe, but her senses fully connected to the magic of William's that he carried in his magical core. She sensed the other gentleman's state, and how dangerous he was. She felt the demon feed on the mixture of his power and that of William.

"You need not worry. He is mostly harmless — but I do fear — maybe you should worry. Have you seen any sign of such a man, he would be very thin, perhaps with a great beard? He may have seemed to be a mad peasant hermit."

Elizabeth shook her head rapidly. "No. No, I have seen no one like that — but such a man. He could watch me from anywhere."

She dared not move away from him. He slid his hand slowly, sensually, down her arm. He lingered to enjoy the feel of her arm through the thin summer dress.

"Do not worry, Miss," he drawled out with a smile into her eyes. "You shall be safe. You must tell me. Have you seen any sign? I am most worried for him."

"No! Nothing." Elizabeth's voice cracked. The terror bubbled underneath, and it tried to freeze her throat.

"You are not telling me the full truth." He tapped his nose and sniffed her hair. "I smell it. But you may trust me. Do you know anything of this man?"

His voice was infused with power, and the demon within refined the spell into something far sharper and more perfect. It was a compulsion spell such as Elizabeth had never felt. The magic of the spell pulsed through the touch on her arm. But William's magic powered the spell.

Elizabeth silently begged: Go. Find nothing. Please leave. Don't think there is anything here. Just go and look elsewhere.

In shock Elizabeth felt William's magic respond to her will. She had not used a spell, but this was magic. Magic responded to wishes at times. She felt the magic of William bound into the man turn against him, and William's magic bound the man's attention to follow her wish.

The gentleman sighed and pulled his hand away from Elizabeth. She felt a deep sense of relief at the absence of that touch. His touch was defiling and wrong.

He ran his finger absently along his scar. "I thank you for your help. You are delightfully beautiful. Perhaps we will meet again one day."

He doffed his hat to her then leapt into the air and flew off at a cannonball's pace.

Elizabeth's knees went weak. She collapsed to sit on the dusty roadside with relief.

She could not move and she cried heartily. When she heard a wagon rumbling down the road, Elizabeth turned herself invisible and scrambled to the edge of the road where she continued to cry as the large iron-bound wheels of the cart rolled past her.

Then she realized through the bond she had with William that he knew something had happened to her, and that she needed to see him to feel safe again.


	11. Chapter 11

William's heart hammered in terror, his chest spasmed with pain extending up his throat and down his left arm, as though he were having a seizure of the heart. His hands convulsively tightened and loosened on the thin sheet next to him on the bed. He'd flooded his body with potentia in the moments when Elizabeth had been in danger, and it pooled up once more throughout his body giving the achiness and the beginnings of the fever again.

The tie between them told him she was safe now.

He had been helpless. He could not raise himself from the bed. He had vast powers and the knowledge of how to use them, but he was too weak to shape his potentia into lightning bolts or shields. Or even into a levitation that would let him leave this damn bed.

Being helpless while Elizabeth was in danger was the worst feeling imaginable. While the threat had been present, he'd searched for a way he could make some desperate gesture with his power if it was needed — some suicidal act to destroy the man.

Then she was safe and he had left.

That was when the chest pain started. The pounding in his heart. The spasming in his stomach. The aching in each of his limbs. Sweat soaked him, as though he'd flown a marathon in the past ten minutes.

Elizabeth was not yet returning. She was still the same distance away.

Too far.

Come back, Lizzy. Lizzy, Lizzy, Lizzy. Be safe.

As though she heard his call, she began to return.

William's heart pounded. Nausea gripped his stomach like a wretched vise. He shook uncontrollably.

She was alive. He felt she was alive.

The door to the inn was opened, with a whisper of potentia which hid its opening from anyone else. Then the door to his room was thrown open.

Elizabeth's eyes were red and teary. She stumbled weakly and shakily as she walked to the bed.

William held his hands out and she crumpled onto the bed and into his chest. Her arms went around him and squeezed him tight. Elizabeth let out long shuddering sobs that started in her belly and came out through her throat. She felt warm and potentia flowed freely between them as they lay together on the bed so closely.

The buildup of potentia in William relaxed as his potentia fused into Elizabeth's body and flowed out of his pores. He could not hold her tightly, and when he tried to stroke his hand over the sweaty fabric of her back, the muscles in his wrist cramped. But just his presence comforted her.

Her presence comforted him. His heartbeat slowed to normal, and his shaking ceased. He relaxed.

It surprised William how short Elizabeth was stretched out lengthwise against him, her face came up to his neck and her feet fell over his shins. Elizabeth rubbed at her eyes with her injured hand while gripping him tightly against her with the other.

He whispered, "What happened?"

She buried her face in William's shoulder. For a long time he only heard her regular breathing. She tensed again, and despite the pain in his wrist, William slowly caressed her back to calm her. He placed his lips on her hair.

She shuddered, sighed, and relaxed into his arms. "He was here — a demon. The demon fed on your stolen power sits in his chest. That malevolent darkness, the desire to cause pain and eat human flesh." Elizabeth shuddered. "He touched me — sensually, on my shoulder. I still feel dirtied."

William touched her where she indicated. She leaned up into his touch. His hand wrapped around her shoulder. A dark oily stain of demonic potentia lingered there.

William closed his eyes and recalled the incantation used to banish such a stain. Elizabeth's person should be as pure and white and innocent as she was. He pulled his hand away, willing his potentia to bring that stain of darkness away, clinging to his hand. With a soft whispered incantation the wisp was burnt away.

His enemy had touched Elizabeth.

"I want to hunt him, kill him, sever his head from the body and feed the entrails to his pet demon before I banish that demon with pain and bleeding and an eternal curse of weakness."

Elizabeth looked at him. Her wide eyes blinked.

William had not meant to speak aloud the rage that made his chest tight.

She gripped him. "No. Care for yourself. And me. He would defeat you… he was so dangerous… I cannot see how he could be beaten."

"How did you escape? Tell me!"

"I do not understand. I was…" She embraced him tighter. "You saved me — your magic fueled his power and his demon's power. Your magic did what I asked. I told your magic I wanted him to leave, and he left — I hope he shall not return."

"Maybe what you did will wear off… When he has consumed all of my power the occlusion may end. We must leave tomorrow."

"You think…he shall come back?" Elizabeth tightened her hold on William and whispered into his chest, "I feel certain that he is gone. That he will not seek us again. Yet I am so frightened."

"I as well." William let out a long breath. His heartbeat slowed. If Elizabeth felt they were safe, they were. "We are safe now."

"Promise not to attack him."

"I cannot attack him at present. I am entirely dependent on you — Elizabeth, I am honoured and proud of you. You faced him, and… you are the finest, most exceptional woman in the world."

She snuggled more tightly against his chest. She whispered in a half-amused tone where the anxiety in her body still was present, "You are not a well-informed judge on the subject, not remembering many women."

"I am the best-informed judge on your merits."

Elizabeth laughed shakily.

William added, "I do not wish to be so well informed about any other woman."

She squeezed him tightly.

Mrs. Gardiner entered the room, tapping her palm against her chin and her eyes darted to each corner of the room. She looked at William. "Lizzy, you are here. Do not pretend, even if I cannot see you, I know it."

Elizabeth sat up and rose from the bed, smoothing down her dress before she released the working of invisibility she'd kept upon herself.

William felt empty now that she was no longer in his arms.

"Elizabeth Bennet, you ought to be ashamed of yourself, hiding in William's bed — dear God, what happened?"

Elizabeth cried again. She shuddered. She was brave and capable, but when the danger was past she lost her sang-froid and needed to be held and warmed.

Mrs. Gardiner took her niece in her arms. William felt desperately jealous. He wanted to have the right to hold her like that. He had every right of connection due to the tie between their souls, but he had no recognized right.

"What happened? Dear, tell me?"

Elizabeth sobbed. Mrs. Gardiner's sharp eyes turned to William's again, and she twisted her face in such an expressive manner that he understood clearly the question.

"She met the man who had imprisoned me. He was fooled by her and has left the town to search elsewhere."

"Is that all?" Mrs. Gardiner asked sharply.

"I was so scared! I feel now we shall be safe. I do not know why I am so shaky and…and weepy. I did not react so when I rescued William, and that was just as dangerous. He was so frightening."

"Dangerous. William led us all into danger."

Elizabeth blubbered, "Not William's fault. If only I had not insisted on taking a walk—"

"He would have come to the inn." William said, "Most likely he was already headed here. It is well that you met him away from here. I believe I am hidden, but it is more likely that he would have seen something then."

"And I take it his next action would have been to kill us all?" Mrs. Gardiner narrowed her eyes. "And you could have done nothing to protect any of us from this danger."

"Elizabeth had within her all that was needed to protect us."

"You cannot — allowing a woman to act as your protector. That is a strange behavior for a gentleman."

Elizabeth pulled away from her aunt. "This is not William's fault. The horrid thing tortured and used him, and wants to recapture William and kill him. Any good person would help William. Why are you so suspicious, and…"

"You were on the bed with him."

Elizabeth glanced guiltily towards the mentioned bed.

William unwaveringly met the older woman's eye when she turned to look accusingly at him.

Mrs. Gardiner said, "Not again. You abused our trust and our relationship. Now tell me about this man. I wish to know him if I see him."

"Mrs. Gardiner, your niece is unsettled. This is not the time for such recriminations." William flooded his voice with an angry power. He did not trust Mrs. Gardiner, and did not want her to hear Elizabeth's description, because he yet feared she would try to betray them to him, even though he was far distant now.

The woman looked towards him with a snap. She opened her mouth, and then let out a sigh. "Lizzy, you have the best of intentions. You always do. William is right, that I am angry because I too am frightened. But tell me about the man. We must know."

"Medium height. I cannot tell if he was handsome or not, as there was a scar across his cheek that disfigured his looks. The scar radiated menace and darkness. He had a charming manner, and he possessed a superior and gentlemanly air. If I could not sense that William's power clung about him, I would have found him charming."

William recognized nothing in the picture Elizabeth painted. But this man was his great enemy. He bit his tongue to keep from telling Elizabeth she should not have given the description to her aunt.

Mr. Gardiner entered the room. "What is the matter? Should I tell my man that we wish to stay an additional day? Are you going to call a physician?"

"Elizabeth met and sent off my enemy. I do not believe we need fear he will return."

Elizabeth turned towards her uncle with her wide eyes. William thought she was scared he would show the same sort of frightened anger as his wife.

Mr. Gardiner blinked. He rocked on his feet slightly and frowned thoughtfully, his brows pulling together. He pulled at his long sideburns and nodded. "No surprise. Very good, Lizzy. I am proud of you. You look rattled. But when danger's past, there is no harm in that. You managed when it counted."

Mr. Gardiner saw the tenseness in his wife, and he put his hands on her shoulders to rub them. "Nothing for it. Do you think you might now call in a physician, or should we still wait till we reach Bristol?"

The way Mr. Gardiner handled the situation impressed William. From the way Mr. Gardiner's breathing did not change, William honestly did not think he was scared. After all the danger was past, and they were all alive. Mrs. Gardiner also relaxed now that her husband was here.

William replied softly to the question, "We should seek the physician in the south. This is yet too close."

"Very good. I'll have dinner called up. Do you think we can help you out to sit in the room tonight?"

William nodded agreement.

Mr. Gardiner rubbed his hands together. "Fine thing to hear." He took his wife's arm and led her out of the room, leaving Elizabeth and William alone again.

Tomorrow they would head south to Bristol, and then to Longbourn.


	12. Chapter 12

Longbourn, Hertfordshire

Mr. Bennet studied the tall young man seated before him. The man was thin as a starved dog. But his eyes told a different story. They glowed with confidence. Mr. William had staggered into the room under his own power and shook Mr. Bennet's hand with a firm grip. But after his weakness had become evident, the young man collapsed into the chair across from Mr. Bennet's rosewood desk. He panted, then gained control of himself again and sat firm and tall.

Despite his weakness, Mr. William presented the image of a great aristocrat.

He had a penetrating gaze, and he held his head in a manner which unconsciously proclaimed that he did Mr. Bennet a grand favor to sit in this room and beg board and hospitality of a stranger.

Mr. Bennet hated great aristocrats and their unceasing assumption they were better. He may not be the most skilled practitioner of the gentlemanly arts. His family home may not be built on a vast ley line, and he did not receive tens of thousands a year in rents. Yet, Mr. Bennet was just as much a gentleman as every one of them, and just as much the head of a family.

He never borrowed money or favors from the great houses. The laws of England allowed any gentleman to stay independent, and the funds his brother-in-law occasionally provided meant the family could continue to live as they always had despite the decline of his farm income. Jane's marriage to that manufacturer's boy, Bingley, secured the finances of his daughters. The independence of Longbourn would not last forever. It would all go to hell when he died and young Cousin Collins — toady if there ever was one — inherited the lands.

Whilst he was the master of Longbourn, they would remain independent. Such games were too much bother in any case.

Gentlemen could not forget. And yet this supposed amnesiac had. Damned fascinating. And Elizabeth was quite attached to the young man.

Too attached.

She'd burst into the room and enthused about how important it was to help this young man, how nice of a person William was, how it would be completely the right thing to let him stay while he recovered.

Concerning.

"Pray tell, for yourself…explain this most strange tale." Mr. Bennet spoke slowly, lingering over every word, using the skeptical manner of a father who did not trust a young gentleman who had been hanging about his beautiful child.

"I only recall a long imprisonment. My first memories are of it, but the nature of these memories is odd. The entire experience was unchanging. There were no episodes to create a distinction betwixt one day and another." The young man's eyes were lost. He shook himself. "Miss Elizabeth was the first person who I saw after. She recognized my distress, and her kind nature could do nothing except aid me."

William leaned forward with that upright head and haughty expression. Power emanated out of him, warming the room and blazing in the second sight that let Mr. Bennet see the flows of power within his house.

How the deuce had Lizzy found this man?

"Your escape? How did you accomplish such an escape, against the precautions I am certain were taken against such an energetic and capable gentleman as yourself? And the nature of this prison. What manner of dank and stinking dungeon were you left to rot within?"

Mr. William shook his head. "My escape is not a matter I shall explain. Danger exists in letting the manner of my leaving its hospitality be widely known. Though it disappoints me to not satisfy your curiosity, I cannot."

"Now, now. You want me to shelter you under my own roof. I possess every reason to wish to know about you."

William inclined his head. "You have every reason. You behave in a prudent manner to question me intently."

Mr. Bennet wanted to roll his eyes. "But you yet refuse to satisfy my prudent curiosity."

"I shall not."

"And how did you make the unintroduced acquaintance of my Lizzy? What trick of fate involved her in your strange odyssey?"

"I was in a remote location. I understand she often takes walks and explores strange places. My condition of mind was…odd. I cannot answer you in details. You ought to ask Miss Elizabeth. She can tell you more."

There was something they were not telling him. Both of them. What was it?

Lizzy would not tell him, and Mr. William knew that. In fact, Mr. Bennet suspected from his manner that he kept his silence because Lizzy told him not to tell her Papa anything.

Very like her.

Ever since her long illness, Lizzy had been secretive. The bleedings had cured her of the delusion that a man was tortured whom she needed to rescue. But even though she knew he had been right to have her bled by the doctor, she never trusted him the same way. It hurt.

He loved his little girl.

Every rational sense told Mr. Bennet that he would experience less bother, be safer, and be far wiser to dismiss William and tell him to take elsewhere the trouble and danger that would be sure to follow in his steps. But if he did, Elizabeth would not speak to him for months, and he missed their discussions. The wise course would drive another wedge between them like the treatment for her illness had.

William would stay, unless he had no other choice. Unless he knew sending the young man off was the only way to protect his family.

Mr. Bennet tried to grab the matter by its horns. "You and Lizzy have failed to inform me of an important part of this tale." Mr. Bennet paused and stared intimidatingly at Mr. William, to see if he would say anything.

The presence Mr. William projected became too great for Mr. Bennet to continue the charade. Mr. William was a grand man, he would give what information he deigned to, and no more. Mr. Bennet asked in a more polite tone, "Pray tell, what danger follows you?"

"None, far as I know. I was imprisoned — that I do remember. I told you that. The man who imprisoned me likely hunts for me yet. He met Elizabeth and asked after me while we still were in the Lake District, but he left when she told him that she had seen nothing of me. There has been no other sign of danger since. However, if you consider the danger to your family too great to host me, I am more than well enough now to travel."

"Yes, yes, yes. You can pretend that possibility exists. I prefer to attend to realities: Lizzy would never forgive me, I dare say, if I sent you off. Besides there is little danger to me of having you here. We are protected here, and this is peaceful England, not some barbaric country where the only security for a gentleman is in his own might."

"England is a fortunate happy land. But even on this sceptered isle, this nursery for kings renowned around the world, crimes are committed for power and other gains."

"By Jove. Don't play this game with me. And don't quote the damned bard just to prove you remember Shakespeare even if you do not recall yourself. Should I send you off? Will you bring great danger to my family? Your honour as a gentleman."

Mrs. Bennet's brother, Gardiner, watched their interaction with those unsettling merchant's hawk eyes. Mr. Bennet liked Gardiner, but Gardiner looked at every gentleman not related to him as prey who existed to have money fleeced from them. "Brother, can I trust this man's honour?"

Gardiner lifted his eyebrows "I traveled with him. That is answer on my part. But what is your opinion?"

His brother-in-law's expression made him look like an amused bird of prey. The expression he directed towards William was one of respect.

How interesting.

Gardiner almost never respected anyone among the gentry. Mr. Bennet knew that while Gardiner liked him as much as he liked Gardiner, Gardiner did not think very highly of him. Fair. Mr. Bennet thought higher of how Gardiner managed his affairs in life than he did of himself as well.

Mr. Bennet didn't want greatness. He wished his Lizzy to be safe and happy. He wished to be left alone to study his books and enjoy good conversation and good snuff, coffee and cognac.

That was the other question: Would Mr. William add to the interest of the dinner table? If the danger that followed William arrived here, it would not do anything but attack Mr. William, who probably would destroy his enemy. Mr. William had such an air about him. Afterwards the danger would be gone, one way or the other.

William sat in his calm pose, contemplating Mr. Bennet's question about the danger. He lifted his hand and tilted it back and forth, like a scale caught between two nearly even weights and unable to settle on which was heavier. "I do not know. Miss Elizabeth, she said… My honest opinion is that the risk seems small. I am not tracked, and soon I shall be fully recovered. I will not fear my enemy then."

Was the man some noble proscribed by the crown and fleeing justice with the pretense of amnesia? No, nobody escaped recently. Such a strange story.

Mr. Bennet pillowed his chin on his hand and studied the young man again. Even while sitting, his trunk was very tall. When he had recovered from the wasting that he'd undergone, he would be an impressive figure of a man. "What it is like to be an amnesiac? A gentleman never forgets — yet you have forgotten. How does that…change you?"

"How can I know how I am changed? I am incapable of recalling who I was, so I am unable to measure such changes."

"Hoho, a fair answer. But you have a great deal preserved — you have characteristic actions, you have customary behaviors. You know things about yourself."

"That does not tell me how I would be different if I remembered the time before my imprisonment. What you really wish to know is not how I am changed from myself, but how it makes me different from you, which itself is a difficult subject to pinpoint, as we have many other differences."

"A fair statement of my question, and of the difficulty in answering. Though rather than myself, how are you different because of your lost memory from a typical gentleman?"

"I do not believe I am greatly different because of my lost memory. The differences between myself and others are fundamental matters of character."

"You have a lack of belonging. I know who I am, what my place is in this world, my connections to others. You have no deep connections, no person you belong with. We gentlemen are caught like fish in a fisherman's net. We belong to our houses and to our blood. You have no deep tie to a fellow human."

Mr. William frowned contemplatively at Mr. Bennet. He glanced at Gardiner who slightly shook his head from side to side.

Mr. William opened his hands wide and said in a calm voice, "I am as you see. Perhaps it is for you to identify how I differ, and through what spectacles I might be best examined. The unexamined life may not be worth living, but Socrates did not claim a man must examine his own life."

Mr. Bennet laughed.

The young man grinned at him with a friendly expression that made him seem almost boyish, as opposed to a haughty gentleman. "Share any insights you find into my character. Self-knowledge, even if my own introspection cannot produce it, would be of great value."

The boy would not be a bore. Mr. Bennet was glad for it. An amnesiac noble was such an interesting case. He had never had a person who was more interesting than his books visit him. He would watch and see what he could learn of Mr. William — besides the obvious point that whoever he truly was, he was a potent powerful man. There may even be great value to have such a person indebted in some way to the family, though that was not a reason to grant hospitality to him.

Mr. Bennet hated grand men, but…he liked this.

Mr. William and Gardiner shared meaningful glances. Not only Lizzy. Gardiner too knew what Mr. William and Lizzy hid from him. That both annoyed and reassured Mr. Bennet.

Gardiner would act for the interest of his extended family. Frankly, Gardiner likely had a better sense of what was best for them all than Mr. Bennet. The man was annoyingly active and clever.

Mr. Gardiner smiled at him with that hawk's grin. His brother could see he'd made his decision.

Mr. Bennet did not like to be seen through. He growled at Mr. William with the most aggressive tone he could muster, "Why here?"

Mr. William raised his eyebrows. The expression indicated that he thought the answer obvious. "I know no one but Miss Elizabeth."

"Nonsense. You know my brother Gardiner."

Gardiner coughed. "I cannot keep him concealed. Your daughter has a great talent at such workings."

"Concealment? Of this man? He radiates too much power. Ridiculous."

"You underestimate Miss Elizabeth. I would have been found by my enemy, while too weak to strike back at him, without her help."

"Lizzy? No! Clever girl — but a master of disillusionment? No."

There was a flash of hardness in William's face. But it disappeared, and only remained as an extra sharpness in his voice, "I nonetheless would find it more comfortable and safer here than lodging with Mr. Gardiner in London." Mr. William wrinkled his nose. "London is not…congenial to my taste."

"Neither to mine. Neither to mine. Smell, crowds" — Mr. Bennet winked at Gardiner — "tradesmen."

Gardiner replied with a comfortable laugh, "You would miss the creature comforts you depend upon without us." He gestured at the rich rosewood of the desk, Mr. Bennet's blue porcelain cigar box, and the silk hangings along the walls. "Even your books are printed by commoners and then sold to you by men such as me."

Mr. William said to Mr. Gardiner, "I admire you enormously — but that is no reason to like London."

Everyone laughed. Even Mr. Gardiner knew very well that the city stank, was crowded, expensive and uncomfortable. Especially within the mile center where a gentleman was always oppressed by the wards.

"Well said. Well said." Mr. Bennet stood and the other two did as well. Mr. William leaned with his one hand on the chair, supporting himself. Mr. Bennet shook his other. "Delight to meet you, but I wish to question my brother further before I decide."

Was that a flash of anxiety over his face, like he really cared? Or was it Mr. Bennet's imagination?

Either way, Mr. William now presented his calm, imperturbable expression, with perfectly smooth brows and neither a smile nor a frown.

Mr. William made a small bow. "You have my friendship, no matter." He slowly picked his way to the door, watching the floor and his feet as he walked. He opened and softly shut the door.

Gardiner grabbed the decanter of port from Mr. Bennet's desk and poured himself a full glass which he sipped from before returning to his seat. "What questions do you wish me to inform you upon — so sensitive you cannot ask in the presence of our new friend."

"I ought to be extremely put out with you. I did not send Elizabeth off so that she could spend weeks in intimate company of a man of literally no name, no position, no anything. A literal nobody."

"He is not a nobody. A quarter of a minute is sufficient to know Mr. William is a man of consequence."

"Or a particularly fine actor."

"If an actor, a man of consequence amongst actors. There is something strangely touching about the way he can act as the most commanding and imposing of gentlemen and a moment later seem mystified by how he had taken command. A fine young lad."

"With no name. How can I judge him without knowing his antecedents and the character of his people?"

"This is the most mystifying matter about the gentry. You keep all power to yourselves, except powers which require work. Sensible. But you judge a man by who his people are instead of who he is — that is why we are so much richer. We understand when a man is worth dealing with."

"High praise for Mr. William from you."

"I have watched him. He deserves such praise."

"Well. Well…" Mr. Bennet tapped his chin. He stared through the heavy blue curtains around his window out at the glare of the sun on his lawn. A simple force of will amplified by the runes placed for that purpose kept the air cool and dry with only a slight drain on his power. The day outside looked miserably hot. The sort of heat that wilted cats.

Gardiner calmly sipped Mr. Bennet's best port. Of course Mr. Bennet wouldn't have been able to afford such a large stock of very good bottles if Gardiner did not sell them to him at cost. The farm at Longbourn and collection of tenants did not produce a great deal of wealth. As for the flows of potentia allowed by the house, Mr. Bennet did not wish to take the active effort needed to turn that to profit.

"You believe I should accept the young man."

"You said yourself you have no great choice in the matter. You have seen how Elizabeth speaks over him already. If you do not host Mr. William, you shall never have family peace again."

"I dare say I won't." Such a strange situation. He should be worried about the portion he did not understand.

Gardiner flashed his hawkish grin. "I suspect you have met your future son-in-law."

"Great God! A man with no name — I hardly care about that. I did not marry so high myself. I see what you mean; he is a gentleman. Lizzy could do worse, even without a name. That does not make me feel better. I do not look forward to losing her."

"A remarkable girl, Lizzy. Always my favorite. More than even Jane."

"Mine as well."

The two sat quiet in the cool air. Mr. Bennet desired solitude to feel grumpy and contemplate how he would lose Lizzy one day. However, he could not dismiss Gardiner. Such would be rude. Mr. Bennet always tried to be polite to Mr. Gardiner. Especially because his brother-in-law, despite being far wealthier, was always below a gentleman squire in status. He had no potentia.

Mr. Gardiner recognized Mr. Bennet's mood and stood. "I wish to spend time with my children and give greetings to Jane and that husband of hers when they arrive."

"Yes. Yes." Mr. Bennet stood up and walked Mr. Gardiner to the door. "I shall follow in a half hour. Tell Lizzy and Mr. William that I will tell them then if I shall take him in."

Mr. Gardiner smiled ironically. "You have not yet decided then?"

"I will. You know I will. But do not give any news to Lizzy. If he causes her great harm, of body or of spirit, I shall blame you in part." Mr. Bennet waved for Gardiner to leave.

Gardiner studied him again with his hawk's eye. Then he raised his eyebrows with a hidden amusement and left. The door closed with a tiny thud.

Alone.

Mr. Bennet looked outside. Wild with green and bright with late summer sun. His estate looked as his estate should, untidy though it might be. Better this than the falsity of a too well ordered, over maintained estate.

Mr. Bennet loved his lands, his study, and his home. The leather of the firm and comfortable seat he had dropped into, the musty smell of old books, the sharp vibration of the magical preservatives on the valuable texts, the port and the tobacco.

Mr. Bennet poured more port into his glass. He did not drink nearly as much as he might wish, since he hated enslavement to anything, even alcohol. But this occasion deserved a drink.

He carefully sniffed the liquid, taking in the raspberry and blackberry hints and the strong whiff of alcohol. Mr. Bennet set it down again before tasting it. Mr. William would be interesting, even if he hoped nothing grew between him and Lizzy. Was that what Gardiner had told Mr. William not to tell him?

Perhaps there was already some romantic connection between Elizabeth and this Mr. William. He ought to be quite aroused about the matter. It was his place as the family head to make such choices for Lizzy.

Mr. Bennet took a careful flavorful sip. The rich sugared taste spilled over his tongue and he swirled it around as he felt the burn of the alcohol on the inside of his mouth.

Wonderful. It was so rare he found something truly fascinating in real life as opposed to in one of his books.

That may not be a good thing. Mr. William might draw him into a game far above his ability to handle.

Lizzy's eyes had told him she was infatuated with the man already. Of course she was. Mr. William was the single most impressive person Mr. Bennet had ever spoken to.

Mr. Bennet gulped the expensive port and slammed the glass onto his wooden desk. It didn't make a loud enough thud to satisfy him.

He should never have let Elizabeth go off on her own. She'd begged too much for it to be a good idea. She'd been looking for trouble.

Well, she could have found much worse than a man like Mr. William. At least he had a sense of honour.

Mr. Bennet let out a long, self-pitying sigh — he had examined himself, and he knew self-pity was a vice he was vulnerable to. He did not have the heart to fight against his vices, he loved them too much.

Mr. Bennet stood, sighed and left the comfortable cocoon of his bookroom to face the world.


	13. Chapter 13

Elizabeth sat on the edge of her chair, anxiously wringing her hands as she watched the door and waited for news. Her foot tapped rapidly against the rug. She wanted to burst in and run to Papa's room to say anything to convince him to let William stay. If he refused…

A good woman would never abandon her family, or deny the right of her father to make choices.

She would abandon her family. She would declare she was no more a Bennet and leave. She would never be able to return. William mattered more to her, and he always had.

"Lord," Mrs. Bennet said. "Such a surprise that you came home with a gentleman. I despaired of you. You never even noticed the handsome fellows. But too poor for you — even if the man has an impressive glow about him. Why did we never know about Mrs. Gardiner's cousin? But believe me, I am a woman of the world, I know how family lines among trading houses become entangled. You know how your grandfather married a commoner after my mother died."

They told everyone but her father that William was Mrs. Gardiner's cousin.

Elizabeth felt sick when she thought of how little she told Papa, like it was wrong to not tell him everything. Like she should tell him and was making a dangerous mistake by not telling him.

But she was too panicked by the memory of the last time she trusted Papa.

"Yes, Mama," Mary replied to Mrs. Bennet. "It is a matter agreed upon by the best philosophers and essayists, that the blood of commoners and gentry should not be mixed. In the times of the ancient Romans, according to Livy, the patricians fought a civil war to keep the plebeians from the right to marry their women and—"

"Lord, Mary! No one cares what the Romans did." Mrs. Bennet's sharp retort silenced Mary who sat back with a sour expression. "Your grandfather married one of their women. And dear Mr. Bingley's mother married a tradesman."

Only children with mothers who were gentlewomen could develop the use of magic. Almost half of children born if the mother had magic but not the father had no magic. But richer tradesmen often married poor gentlewomen so that their children might have magic. Jane's husband Bingley had been born from such a union.

In England such children were frowned upon, but considered gentlemen. It was the presence of potentia that made the difference. In France those children and their lines had been excluded from their gentry, and the revolution there had been led by such persons, many of whom had been magical for generations, but who had an ancestor without magic.

"Lizzy, stand up, let me look at you closer." Elizabeth twirled at her mother's command.

"Good, child. Good — paler than I expected. I was sure when I sent you off, you would return brown as a nut. But you stayed out of the sun. If you had Jane's skills — or even Kitty or Lydia's — you could have protected yourself. Did you learn at last to lighten your skin? When Lydia comes back from Brighton, she will look even paler than you. You do not look as poorly as I expected."

"No, Mama, I was inside often. I needed to help care for William."

"Is he handsome! Is he?" Kitty had not yet returned from a call on the Lucases when their party arrived at Longbourn. She grabbed Elizabeth's arm. "It is so unfair you got to go off and meet a handsome gentleman."

"Now, now, children." Mrs. Bennet spoke seriously. "Not enough consequence for you to consider."

"Is this Mr. William handsome?" Kitty repeated. "Is he? Is he?"

"Exceedingly." Elizabeth blushed as her sisters and mothers looked at her. "That is, he would look well if he were not ill. I think. I mean, I do like his face. And he has nice eyes and…"

"Oh yes! You have nursed him." Mrs. Bennet sighed. "That is romantic. Maybe he will make something of himself. For any of my other daughters, such a man would be too low. But for you, maybe. Despite your beauty, I despair of you."

Kitty giggled. "Is Lizzy in looooove?"

She did not know. William was so much…more than simply an attractive man.

Elizabeth pinched Kitty's side. "What is this I hear about you running after the Golding boys? Are they not bored of you?"

Kitty squealed away from Elizabeth's fingers and stuck her tongue out. "You are jealous they like me and not you."

"No fighting, girls, no fighting — do not be jealous, Lizzy, even if your Mr. William is not so handsome as Mr. Golding."

The drawing room was opened. Leaning heavily on the arm of a footman, William walked into the room.

Elizabeth jumped up. Everything else in the world disappeared from her mind when he was there, and she stared deeply and worriedly at him. "What did Papa say? What happened? Will he let you stay with us?"

William shrugged. "He wished to consult Mr. Gardiner before making a decision."

"I shall never forgive Papa. Never, ever, if he does not let you stay."

William looked as though he wanted to touch her to help her calm.

Kitty bounded next to them. "So tall! Are you really a gentleman relation of Mrs. Gardiner? You look so weak. So strange. I cannot imagine not being able to walk. I never break my bones like Lizzy."

William raised his eyebrows and smiled at both of them. "You often broke bones. Pray, what is the story?"

"Not often!"

Kitty laughed. "Three times. That is often."

Elizabeth blushed at the way William smiled at her.

"Mrs. Gardiner said raising her nieces gave her an understanding of how gentry heal."

Kitty eagerly added, "Lizzy once fell down a well while trying to climb down it. She would have been stuck there until she starved to death if Papa hadn't found her. One time she climbed high in an oak tree. Just a few years ago — she should have been far too ladylike to do such a thing at her age, I never do anything like that — she fell, and only softened the crash with her spell — I mean her working."

Mrs. Bennet exclaimed, "My nerves were shattered by that girl — absolutely shattered. Lizzy always was trouble. Mrs. Gardiner never spoke of you."

"She only learned of my existence during our trip."

"Lord. But how can I tell how to think of you? The particulars of your life! I must know them. Not everyone with a relation among the commoners is of little consequence, but I must know."

"I understand your difficulty." William described the family tree they had constructed for his backstory, since for safety, only Mr. Bennet should know the true story about William being an amnesiac.

This imagined tree was very ill connected. After William finished his explanation, Mama turned up her nose and said, "My family is far better than that. But you still are a gentleman, so you are owed a little respect on that account."

Elizabeth blushed with shame and did not look at William to see how he took it. She wanted him to like her family. But how could he when they behaved in such a way? At least Lydia was still in Brighton.

Mama added, "Lord, my word, you are tall. You look very well—"

Kitty exclaimed, "Mama! He cannot walk, or dance, and he is so thin."

Mrs. Bennet waved her hand. "I see men better than you, Kitty. My word! Mr. William will look handsome indeed when he fills out. An illness can do that to a gentleman. Mr. William, promise to remain long enough to attend a few dances after you are fully yourself. You will be a credit to me in appearance, even if not in connections."

"He won't be handsome." Kitty turned up her nose. "I shall write a long letter to Lydia describing how very handsome he is, and how he is the best looking and best mannered gentleman ever, and how I think he likes me — you do not mind, Mr. William? — she shall be ever so jealous, and when she returns and actually sees Mr. William it shall be the greatest joke ever."

Mary said in her tinny affected voice, "Appearances are merely a matter of the surface, but one should judge by hidden inner things."

"Ha! He's a second cousin of Mrs. Gardiner! Nothing hidden there."

"You ought not tease our sister Lydia," Mary added firmly. "She gives herself over to flirtation and frivolity, rather than consideration of deep matters. I earnestly adjure you to take a concern for more important matters yourself."

Kitty rolled her eyes. "Ever since you spent so much time talking to Cousin Collins, you have been even more of a bore!"

Elizabeth closed her eyes with a little pain. William brushed his hand on her shoulder in an unobtrusive comforting gesture.

Mama said, "My brother likes you, and he is a good judge — he doesn't understand the importance of important things, being a tradesman."

William nodded and said in a quiet voice, "The life of a tradesman is very different."

He tried to hide it, but William was shocked and displeased by the tenor of the conversation.

Then at last Jane and Mr. Bingley arrived.

Elizabeth jumped to her feet and embraced her sister and carefully looked her over. Jane's belly had grown so much! It was now quite apparent that she was with child, though a few months remained till the birth.

"Jane! At last! I have missed you."

"Lizzy! You look happy. You enjoyed your trip, I see."

"I never forgot to miss you, my dear Jane!"

Mr. Bingley embraced Elizabeth when she and Jane let go. "We meant to be here when you returned, but you sent messages of delay several times, and we did not know that you planned to come at last earlier than tomorrow—"

"No! No apology. We did not come at a regular time."

William stood unevenly and walked forward to meet Jane and Bingley. He shouldn't push himself so much. He only began to stand and walk under his own power three days ago. After they saw a physician in Bristol, Elizabeth's own hand had fully regained movement in two days, but she was still ordered to exercise and stretch it every day for the next two weeks.

Elizabeth was very glad she did not need to explain that injury to Papa.

Mr. Bingley greeted William with an open expression. "Let me shake your hand. But sit down, sit down. Do not stand on mine or Mrs. Bingley's account. We heard you have been quite ill. I once was quite ill. For several months. As a lad. It takes something out of a man."

William sat down, and Elizabeth could see he had needed to.

Elizabeth tensed as she waited to see how her favorite sister and Mr. Bingley got along with William. She wanted William to like one part of her family besides Mr. Gardiner.

"I am honoured to become acquainted with you. Miss Elizabeth spoke highly."

"Lizzy!" Bingley grinned at her. "I hope you did not paint too pretty a picture of me — you know I hate to disappoint anyone. Of course your picture of Jane was not pretty enough. So the pair of us will not disappoint."

Jane touched Bingley's shoulder. "Lizzy only tells the truth. It pleases me to meet you as well, Mr. William."

Bingley frowned thoughtfully, "Upon my honour. I say, have I seen you somewhere. Something familiar about you, but I cannot place from where."

"Really?" William cocked his head in a fascinated manner.

"A familiar face — did you attend Oxford, or perhaps Harrow?"

Not in front of Mama and Kitty. Bingley and Jane could be safely told, eventually, about William's amnesia, but Mama and Kitty would gossip endlessly if they knew. William's enemy would hear the rumors, and he would descend upon them all.

William asked in a mildly surprised tone, "You went to Harrow and Oxford?"

"Not everything Elizabeth said was praise."

"Nothing she said was a cause to think less of you. I care more for who you are than for who your parents are. Men of every birth can be of value."

"I am then truly delighted to know you. And yet more worried that I shall disappoint."

"You need not fear my judgement." William smiled the way he did when comfortable. He glanced at Elizabeth and caught her eye. "Miss Elizabeth has inflated both your merits beyond all reason."

"So you came prepared for me to fall short of her picture, thus the surprises shall be positive." Bingley laughed again.

William grinned with him.

Something in Elizabeth relaxed. They would all be friends. She had very much wanted that.

Bingley clapped his hands together. "And you. A distant relation of Mrs. Gardiner. Deuced fine woman. Deuced fine. You must be delighted with such a relation."

It was so very like Bingley to simply assume that William would not be unhappy about a commoner cousin.

William replied firmly. "No one could wish for a better connection than the Gardiners. Though I had not known of the relationship until very recently."

Elizabeth was surprised, both because she knew he felt the disdain many of the gentry had for commoners, and because he and Mrs. Gardiner had yet never warmed to each other.

"Ha!" Bingley exclaimed. "Your family did not talk about the disgraceful branch of the grand tree with no potentia."

William's eyes twinkled. "And then they died, without having spoken of it."

"I know how it is. Half my friends won't admit they are my friends. Lizzy told you my background."

"I never understood how a man with full access to potentia could be seen as anything but a gentleman."

"You cannot?"

"I cannot."

"Not that I care what anyone thinks. But it is easier to be friends with someone who does not look down upon me because my father did not have potentia."

"How did you enter Harrow? Wealth does not grant entrance there. They are selective and concerned about matters of blood."

"They are. Deuced strange place to be, coming there from my family's collieries near Newcastle. My grandmother was the illegitimate daughter of a duke. He was always very fond of her and of his old mistress."

"And your great grandfather was still alive."

"It gratified the old fellow to have a great grandson who turned out to be a gentleman, even if there was some scandal. I always was delighted fond of him till he died — my great uncle of course cannot bear to acknowledge any connection — my grand-duke had the position to move heaven and earth to get me admitted. There was no formal regulation in place against such a person, and he gained support of both the King and the Darcys."

"Yes." William frowned and shook his head as if confused. "I am glad you had such an opportunity."

"Ha! All a deuced bother. I made good friends, but while I'll purchase an estate — like as not Netherfield when the lease ends — I'm not to make my mark in politics. I've already a king's ransom of money. My father built a proper coal empire — I sold after he died, his will demanded I do so, he didn't want his gentleman son sullied by commerce."

"That was right of him. A gentleman should not be involved in trade."

"We are quite busy hunting." Bingley winked at Jane and kissed her on the cheek. "Flirting."

The drawing room door opened and Papa entered.

Elizabeth's body tensed. Papa had a grumpy face, and he walked slowly to the middle of the room.

William unobtrusively knocked his foot into Elizabeth's ankle, snapping the panicky feeling in her breast. She took a deep breath.

Papa turned to William. "You can stay. But I expect you to entertain me with your conversation."


	14. Chapter 14

William walked carefully behind Elizabeth. He had arrived at Longbourn a week past, and Elizabeth let him push himself while walking because she was so eager to show him everything about her house. Her enthusiasm was adorable.

She was adorable.

No such thoughts.

While he did not know his past, he had no right to promise Elizabeth anything.

Yet regaining his memories terrified him. Deep in his gut, William felt it would separate him, destroy him, as though his happiness, his hopes for the future, were tied to not knowing.

Elizabeth led him along a drainage ditch between two golden fields of wheat, the crops stood tall, and soon harvest would arrive. The waving stalks of wheat gleamed in the yellow sun. The day was cool as the highest point of summer was past, and the earth now swung in its long arc towards winter once more. The birds flapped. Ravens cawing at each other and sparrows bringing worms to feed their broods. Even the birds seemed aware of the shortening time before the bare ruined boughs of winter returned.

They walked out of the ditch between the two fields and up to the base of a hill with a small path wandering around the bottom. Elizabeth pointed to the top. A clump of overgrown pink and white rose bushes and a few dusty marble benches sat on the peak. There was a small statue of an archer. "My favorite view around Papa's lands — Oakham Mount is more impressive, but near two miles away. Too much today. Can you walk it?"

William nodded.

Her bubbling smile was cherrylike and made her lips curve tantalizingly. She wore a pink ribbon in her hair, weaving in and out of view under her straw bonnet. Her face was tanned and freckled. Her hands were small and pink in their kid gloves.

William needed to sit down and rest.

Elizabeth walked cheerily ahead, and William put one foot in front of the other.

She turned around with her ready smile. "This garden was favored by an old family, but in my grandfather's time they sold their holdings to Longbourn. You know how lands tend to consolidate. The garden and marble benches had been theirs; I believe they used it often. Too far a walk from Longbourn for our family to make a regular use, which leaves the spot to me."

His legs felt feeble.

William did not show the ache in his muscles. He did not want Elizabeth to force him to sit down. He wanted to climb the hill. He had been weak so long. By Jove, he would reach the top of this hill, if he needed to crawl after he'd collapsed.

The two walked up a thin game trail. The path was a line of yellow dirt bordered on both sides with thick grasses and wild flowers.

William did not hear what Elizabeth said. The burning started in his shins; it migrated into his thighs. His knees hurt. He felt the odd mushiness of legs too weak to support themselves, and only kept moving due to potentia and momentum. The portae in his legs trembled under the strain of the potentia he channeled to keep his legs going.

"Oh—" Elizabeth clapped her hand to her mouth. "I haven't paid attention. This path is too much for you. Let me help you. We can sit and return."

They were almost to the top. William shook his head. "I can finish the ascent. On my own."

Giving the lie to his words, William's foot caught on the root of a large gnarled oak tree exposed by the erosion. He nearly fell to the ground, but in a sort of running sprint he recovered his balance. He was sure he'd sprained his foot.

Elizabeth ran behind him as William almost jogged towards the top. He empowered his body with floods of potentia, not wanting to collapse, not even in front of Elizabeth.

The slight chill from the air blew over his sweaty forehead. His legs and side and stomach burned.

Pain was nothing.

"Are you hurt? Don't keep rushing."

William collapsed onto a cold white marble bench at the top, panting. He paid no attention to cleaning off the dusty surface to protect his wool pants.

He barely heard Elizabeth's angry voice over the dizzy rush in his head.

Such a small victory, but William felt a roar of triumph inside. He grinned. His body had not wanted to climb the hill, but he had.

Elizabeth grabbed his shoulders with her tight fingers and shook him. "You featherwit. Do you want to hurt yourself so badly you are flat on your back again?"

The pain returned. William's legs felt weak and throbs emanated from the sprain. His foot would swell up beneath his shoe soon. The over-pushed portae in his legs throbbed.

William breathed out unsteadily. He shook his exhaustion away and grinned at her. "You wished us to ascend the hill." The pain was just a physical manifestation of his body knowing he had triumphed and his weakness had lost.

Elizabeth stared at him. She slumped onto the bench next to him with a tremulous frown and looked as though she wanted to cry.

It made William think he should feel guilty instead of exultant.

"Don't look so…Lizzy…not so mournful. I merely am tired of being so weak."

"Did you hurt yourself further? How do you feel? What hurts?"

"I feel good. I did no serious injury to myself."

Elizabeth glared.

A cold wind blew through his sweat-soaked clothes. He had hardly exerted himself enough to sweat so much, and when William tried to heat the air around him to a comfortable state again, he couldn't shape the potentia. The gates within his legs ached. William decided he would rather be cold than hurt himself further, and he abandoned the effort.

"You fool." Elizabeth touched him and used her own control of his potentia to create a working that put no strain on him and kept him warm. "Are you still going to claim it was a good decision?"

William shrugged. He was full of the triumph. He just hated that it made Elizabeth unhappy.

She got off the bench and knelt on the ground next to him. Elizabeth touched his legs, probing his body with her own potentia.

William liked the feel of her hands through the wool shins of his pants as she examined him. It distracted him from the way his ankle's tendons ached underneath the muscles. He would not be able to support his whole weight on that foot for at least another day. He would depend on Elizabeth's help to get off the mountain.

He didn't like weakness, but he willingly depended on Elizabeth.

Elizabeth lingered at his legs. Her fingers gripped his calves as she examined his injured ankle. Her potentia bubbled from her hands into his skin and it permeated his injured ankle, wrapping it in a stiff blanket of pressure and making his stockings firm enough to be impromptu splints. He could not voluntarily move the muscles or injure the leg further. She infused her power into his nerves, bringing a blessed relief and numbness.

"Ahhhhhh." William let out a long breath he did not know he'd been holding as Elizabeth came up to sit next to him again. William expected her to lecture him again, and make him promise to never do anything like that again.

She was silent. It made William nervous, because Elizabeth always chattered. He loved the way her voice sounded, and her silence scared him.

He opened his mouth to ask what she was thinking, but he did not know how to ask. Something in his stomach was terrified he would make her angry, and unhappy, and it would be bad.

"It must be very difficult for you." Elizabeth spoke softly, "Even though you do not remember, you expect to be strong. Capable. I am glad of your strength."

"I worried you. But…" William's voice trailed off. Even though the pain was removed by the numbing, the damage was there. His other leg felt shaky. He ached and potentia was building up in his legs again. How far had he set himself back?

Elizabeth pushed him again. "You are lucky. I found nothing but a minor sprain and exhaustion. Rest a day or two, and you will be stronger than ever."

"Oh." William closed his eyes. Elizabeth smiled and moved his head to lean against her. She understood him without words. He was still light and thin, and though Elizabeth was slender, she was strong. Her shoulder provided a cushion. William fell into a light doze.

Perhaps twenty minutes later he woke again, with his body stretched out on the bench and his head in her lap.

William smiled at Lizzy's face. He liked the intimacy of her placing his head in her lap.

Her face was pretty.

They had been this close before, but the other times had been before he'd arrived at Longbourn and met her father. She was a gentlewoman, and he was a single gentleman. It was inappropriate for them to be in such close quarters.

It felt right.

He could not promise her the world, and the universe, and everything else. He could not ask her that most serious question while he did not know his past.

Lying on a pretty girl's lap in an abandoned garden. Only the two of them. Young men fantasized about such situations, but he resided under Mr. Bennet's roof and he depended on his hospitality. Elizabeth was Elizabeth.

William sat up, removing his head from her legs. William's foot felt numb, but he cautiously placed it on the ground. Elizabeth put her thin, elegant hand on his shoulder and shook her head to stop him. "Not yet. We still will wait a while — the view?"

The faint smell of rose blossoms and wildflowers and wild grasses. The plants grew over the other marble benches. The little statue of an archer stood in the center of the clearing, with a tiny hole for water at the end of his bow. The archer had a bird's nest in his hat.

Elizabeth's perfume.

Longbourn stretched below them, with its paddocks and the wide wooden barn painted white. The red brick manor house rose three stories and looked over its lands. The gardens stood to one side, and on the other the tiny park with a large oak tree that shaded stone benches and a small table. Meryton could be seen in the distance, its long main street with the brown and white timber framed buildings that colorfully lined the street. People, small as featherwing beetles, walked back and forth. It was almost harvest, and lines of tall golden wheat separated by the vibrant green hedges surrounded everything. The planted fields were pockmarked with fields left fallow and full of cattle.

Mr. Bennet's land was not well managed.

William's eyes picked that out. He had already noticed irregularities in the management of the house and the fields he'd walked by during his shorter previous walks. Elizabeth distrusted her father — whatever she said about loving him, that pain from his refusal to help her rescue him those years before sat deep. Despite that, William felt disloyal to her whenever he thought ill of Mr. Bennet.

The cottages were small, with patchy spots in the roofs showing that the thatching should be replaced. It was not a prosperous village with an active master. Building brick rooms would bring additional money to the landlord and provide more productive and comfortable dwellings for the peasants. The flowing fields of wheat were beautiful, but they should be thicker and taller. If the potentia which flowed through the ley lines of Longbourn was used to encourage the yields and to make sure there was always the right amount of water and sufficient drainage after major storms, the yields would be a third higher than what his eye suggested.

The Bennet holdings were too small to have a gentleman steward, but there was a great deal Mr. Bennet could do. A few of the cottages looked better than the others, being freshly enchanted. In the winter such matters were more visible, since the smoke stacks would be clearer and thinner, because the chimneys ran free. But to William's practiced eye, the relative prosperity in the richer gardens, and the glossy appearance of the thatched roofs was easily visible.

He pointed. "What is the difference between those cottages and the others?"

"Oh!" Elizabeth blushed. "I have been too busy to do more, and Mama and Kitty make no effort. I always thought it was important to care for the people on our land" — Elizabeth looked down shyly — "I read so in a book."

William laughed. "Such is a standard advice. The health of the people encourages the health of the master."

"Papa will not be bothered too much, but I fixed the roofs some. And enchanted the gardens to keep the weeds and those eating insects away. It does not last more than a year, and I have been too busy to reach all of the houses yet — I will before winter."

"I approve."

Elizabeth ducked her head and smiled up at him from beneath her eyelashes. "Jane did even more than me, before she married. And Netherfield's cottages are beautiful."

"There is a connection between the health of the landlord and his peasants. Charity and human feeling demand we help where we can. An estate where the potentia in the ley lines is spread about will earn more money and have tenants who are far more eager to support and defend their Lord. Such an estate, if managed well, could stand against any enemy. Such a kind master becomes a prince in his own land, free to pursue his own course with the support of those who depend upon him in turn — I am surprised with his dislike of the games of the great, Mr. Bennet does not realize that true independence is not achieved without such effort."

"That is what the book I read said."

William blushed. He rubbed at the back of his neck.

"You said it much better than the book though!" Elizabeth grabbed his hand and squeezed it. "I like when I hear you speak so passionately."

He looked at Elizabeth, unable to think of anything to say back to her. She looked at him so smilingly. Her fingers felt very nice. "You have been here often. Sitting at this bench. Your presence has sunk in and permeates it."

"You can tell!" She nestled his hand in hers and pressed it against her thigh. "I sat here and thought about you and planned how to rescue you."

"Your presence always leaves a mark."

"Awwwww." She smiled widely. "You say sweet things!"

"But less sweet by far than you."

She poked him.

William laughed and poked her back. Even if it was inappropriate, he liked that she felt comfortable touching him.

Elizabeth asked, "How do you like my family? I know you must say you are grateful; you could have nothing to say against your kindest hosts; so on, so forth."

"If I must say that I wonder at your purpose in asking a question whose answer you already know." William smirked.

Elizabeth laughed.

"They are your family." William laid his hand, half conscious that he was doing so, on Elizabeth's knee. "From your query, I might suspect you harbor negative thoughts about some members of your family — I, of course, cannot think anything but the very highest of them, being their guest."

Elizabeth giggled.

"Since I claim them to be the finest of people in the entire world — that is what the polite guest always says until he is far out of earshot — I ask you how you see your family."

"Unfair. Unfair. You are the one with the fresh perspective."

"Politeness disallows me from acknowledging to anyone what it says. Which is to say, my opinion is positive without any shade. You have an intimate portrait, worth many times what I could say."

"Family loyalty requires I also speak only the kindest of words."

William's hand somehow was on Elizabeth's knee. He pressed it slightly, and then removed it back to himself. It felt natural to touch her. "Lizzy, we are close. The connection betwixt us, that connection allowed you to save me. That connection allows you to speak whatever you wish. You already spoke very openly about your father."

"But…"

"I want to understand you. Tell me about your family, how you see them."

"I — William…" She paused. William placed his hand comfortingly on her arm. She briefly touched the back of his hand. "You have always been more part of me. For many years. I love them. Mary with her silly belief that she gains great wisdom from what she reads. Lydia — you will not like her. I see how Kitty annoys you—"

"She is a fine young woman."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes.

William laughed. "I confess it, I confess it. I am not fond of her approach to men."

"Lydia is worse. Much worse. I told Papa to not allow her to travel to Brighton. But I could not argue too stridently. Colonel and Mrs. Forster are gentry, while my uncle, who I wanted to travel with, is a tradesman."

"To be fair, your uncle made no notable success of your management."

"No." Elizabeth laughed. "Colonel Forster must manage a regiment of militia, and Mrs. Forster is only three month's Lydia's senior. It will be our good fortune if Lydia's excursion proves a disaster of merely minor proportions. I never cared much about appearances and…and pursuing gentlemen, or protecting the name of the family. All of that nonsense."

"Family names matter enormously." Something deep in William cared for Elizabeth's name, since he was hers in a deep way.

"You would say that."

William grinned. "I am transparent to you? I like that I am transparent to you."

The bird whose nest sat in the statue's hat returned and after twittering at them with some strong emotion, settled into the nest.

"You say you do not want to know your past. But family is…family. You must ache…" Elizabeth placed her hand on William's knee. "You are so brave. But do not worry. We belong together. You and me. That is enough, is it not?"

"You are my family. My true family." Tears came to his eyes. "We are so tightly connected. Because of you I am not alone, adrift. You rescued me; you care for me; you are here with me. Yet — I must learn my true family name. I have come to know that. Only when I know my name can I…only then will I be able to return to you what I owe to you."

She pulled her eyes together in confusion.

William wanted to touch her face and smooth out her frown. Her freckled cheeks and long eyelashes were so beautiful that to look at them hurt beneath his stomach and spine.

"William. You bring everything with you. You are everything. You need not return anything. I rescued you…I fulfilled the purpose I had for myself. Caring for you is the most special, worthy thing I can do."

"They are part of me." William gestured vaguely. "My family. Though I remember them not. I hate that. I hate that some fragment of me belongs to them. I wish to have no obligation to anyone but you. Yet deep in my bones, my nerves and my very mystical being, I owe duty to them. Some great task or purpose exists which I had been prepared for. I ought to sacrifice anything if it is necessary to achieve that purpose. Yet I could not sacrifice you. I fear knowing the task. I fear that terribly. I want to never know…"

"Absurd. Fate decreed we are together, you and me. No force could pull you and me apart. If you have a duty to your family, discover it so I can help you fulfill it — oh!" Elizabeth exclaimed, "I do fear your knowing — your returning. The man. Your enemy. He is so dangerous."

"Him? I am not frightened by him." William waved his hand dismissively.

"You should be. Do not think of him. Recover. Work to be healthy again..." Elizabeth looked pointedly at William's newly injured foot.

William looked away shamefacedly.

"Ha! You look like a boy caught with his hand in the sweets jar."

"Are you the angry governess who is going to slap my hand?"

She immediately rapped him sharply on the hand.

William laughed. "Ouch."

She stuck her tongue out at him. "Time to return. Papa will wonder if we disappear too long." Elizabeth knelt on the ground to examine his ankle again.

She'd put her straw bonnet with a pink ribbon to the side. William admired the curls of her dark hair. Elizabeth's back curved towards the ground, drawing his eyes to her well-shaped rear. William forced his eyes away. Their connection gave him no right to ogle Elizabeth, like some old man who could not keep his eyes where they belonged.

Elizabeth grimaced as she stood up and glanced down at her dress. The knees stayed dirty. Elizabeth gestured harshly at the cotton fabric and some of the dirt came off, along with unraveling strands of muslin fabric. Half the dust stayed on the now bald knees of the dress.

William raised his eyebrows with an expression designed to tease her.

She shook her head and laughed. "I know, I know — no skill in domestic arts."

"But you are so very skilled in other arts. 'Tis a fascinating paradox, how you are so capable — for example with invisibility workings — yet so incapable elsewhere."

"If you will risk my proving incapable, I can support you as we walk down, so that you don't put weight on the ankle."

"I will risk anything you ask."

"Jane is perfect." Elizabeth looked at her damaged dress again. "Jane doesn't even make an effort to stay clean. Dust and stains literally cannot stick to her. We once traveled to London in the dead of summer, with the dust from all the traffic coming to the city, and the heat. She stepped out of the carriage into Gardiner's house fresh as a dewy daisy. No sweat, no dust, no disarrangement of her hair. Mine was tangled mess."

William imagined Elizabeth as a frazzled mess. "You were lovely."

"Maybe to you I would look so — you've seen me after a too long carriage ride. Now up." Elizabeth braced herself and grabbed William's forearm to pull him to stand on his good foot, though that leg was sore also. Elizabeth pulled William's arm around her shoulder. She shaped the potentia in William so he felt as though he only weighed a fraction of his true weight.

They hobbled down the hill slowly.

William enjoyed the feel of his arm around Elizabeth's thin shoulders too much to feel ashamed of his weakness. However, a vague dread sat in his bones, about the future which he wished to pretend would not come: He could only marry Elizabeth if he had a name, and yet, when he sought his name, what would follow?


	15. Chapter 15

Elizabeth bounced in her chair as the maid did her hair agonizingly slowly.

Their old maid, who'd done their hair since Mama was a young wife, comfortably knocked Elizabeth against the side of her head. "None of that, Miss. None. You stay still, Miss Lizzy. I'll have you done up neat in time enough. I will."

"William must have long since finished dressing, I don't care how my hair appears. I don't wish to keep him waiting."

The servant replied phlegmatically, "Gentlemen always dress faster. Everything comes to him who waits."

William would be dressed in evening clothes, and Elizabeth could hardly wait to admire him decked out so. She forced herself to stop impatiently tapping her foot.

The local doctor had proclaimed William well enough to attend a dance, though he should not dance for another week or two — the injury to his foot last week had entirely healed, and quickly. Elizabeth liked to credit the effort she made to care for his sprain, but William's natural robustness mostly deserved the credit. Every day his muscles grew thicker, the aura from his body became more refined, and he had more energy.

He soon would not need her any longer.

She didn't need to worry about that. They would be attached as tightly as ever once he fully healed, for she would need him.

The maid entwined flowers into her hair. Soon. Elizabeth tapped her foot furiously. Why did Martha always work so slowly.

William was downstairs, and too much time — an hour and a half — had passed since she saw him. Elizabeth was growing ridiculous, but after so many years waiting to rescue him, it was natural to be so attached.

The maid stepped away. "You look fine tonight. But you have no patience. Nothing like our Miss Jane. She is a proper young lady, she is. Her hair looks elegant no matter the what. You must be patient if you wish to look your best."

"Yes, yes. Jane's hair is better than mine. I was aware."

"Always out of place. Why must you always let your curls fall out of place. Not like a proper gentlewoman. I'm half shamed to see your hair when you come home. The other servants must think 'tis my fault. But you do not pay attention. It isn't my fault."

Elizabeth rushed out the door, but she spent a whole half second admiring herself in the mirror and extravagantly praising the braiding for the sake of the old maid who had served them since they were children.

She lightly hurried down the stairs, the wood hollowly thudding under her feet. She skidded to a stop in the entry hall. William sat listening as Papa argued a point of archaic philosophy with him.

So handsome!

He'd borrowed second hand a coat from a neighbor, which then had been tailored to fit him. Elizabeth had not yet seen him wear it.

A critical eye could discern that the coat had not been originally made for him, but Elizabeth's could not.

William looked very well indeed. His thin face was elegant and distinguished. His hair was a rich dark color. He was tall, and his shoulders looked broader than they actually were, due to the padding in the borrowed coat. William would not need such artifice in another two or three months. Meryton's barber had given him a haircut, and his hair fell around his forehead in the Roman style recently popularized by the French leader.

William and Papa looked at her. William stood without any support. His eyes locked on her. Papa said, "Lizzy, lovely tonight — isn't she, William?"

He bowed deeply in agreement. "Enchanting."

"Nonsense." Elizabeth threw her arms around Papa. "The interest is seeing William."

"And how, in your most objective opinion, do I appear?"

"Very handsome." Elizabeth wished she dared to kiss his cheek in front of Papa.

"I do." William grinned with a boyish mischief, his eyes light and bright.

"My, my, what happened to false modesty?"

"Deception is my abhorrence."

Papa and Elizabeth laughed. Papa said, "Off to dissipation and revelry? It would be far more sensible to spend the night reading, but the young will be young. Take care, William, while you are out."

"Papa, Bingley's ball."

"I know my new son. He cannot be trusted to be sensible. I'm deuced glad that he's taken such a shine to you, William. You are a far better comrade than most of his friends."

"I admire Bingley greatly; he has a fine combination of sense and sensibility."

"While you have only sensibility — off, off with you both. Do not return till you've had a good time."

Papa walked them out into the mild summer evening. The edge of the sun still visible over the horizon, glowing red above Longbourn's fields. Kitty, Mary and Mama crowded their carriage first. This time William handed Elizabeth into the carriage, though as he did so, she could still tell how he was yet weaker than most men. He climbed in to sit next to her.

Kitty exclaimed, "My dress! Mary, you sat on it. Make her move! Apologize!"

"Mary, do not sit on Kitty's dress. You will crumple it — what will the gentlemen think! Kitty, smooth the dress out — you should have been more cautious. You are no Lizzy. You can fix the damage."

"But…"

"Lord, Kitty! I shall return your dress to a perfect starch before we enter the house."

"It's not fair! You should be angry with Mary."

Mary rolled her eyes and took the book she had secreted in her reticule out. Kitty tried to grab it.

Elizabeth said, "Kitty, do be quiet."

Her sister stuck her tongue out at Elizabeth. "I shall not be."

"Silence is a form of great wisdom," Mary said.

Elizabeth saw from the corner of her eye William's hidden smirk at Mary. Something in her heart relaxed. He could laugh at them tolerantly.

Kitty mimicked Elizabeth's tone of voice, "Mary, do be quiet."

"It is foolishness to make great noise when one can be patient and think."

At this pearl of wisdom, Kitty shrieked in laughter. The remainder of the carriage ride proceeded in like manner. When they reached Netherfield, Bingley ran up to the carriage and offered his arm to help William out, saying as he did, "Delighted to see you. Delighted — all of you."

William waved off the hand and almost spryly climbed out. He said, "As you see, I am much improved." He gave Elizabeth his hand to help her out.

She of course did not need help, but it was traditional. She loved that William now could stand and comfortably do this.

"A marked improvement. I've scarce seen such change in a man as yours since two weeks past." Bingley shook William's hand vigorously. "You already look better than I."

"Not yet."

"'Tis a dance tonight. I expect you to stand up for a few sets."

"I come prepared to stand for one, but it shall need to be slow. Miss Elizabeth, it would delight me exceedingly if you gave me your hand for the first set."

"Are you sure?" Elizabeth worriedly looked at him. He did look very well. "The doctor thought a dance would take too long."

"I shall trust you as a partner to watch me."

"You do?"

"I am under your care, Miss Elizabeth." His voice seemed to linger over her name.

"Charming fellow!" Bingley grinned and clapped his hands together. "I am excessively pleased that I am already married and have settled my Jane happily. Mr. William will charm all of the ladies tonight, and the other gentlemen will be left to cry alone."

William smiled, but he was tense. William was usually reserved around her family. She suspected he would not like too much attention from other young ladies.

Bingley led them into the house. "Everyone will think well of you — no need to charm every lady, simply because you can. When recovered, you shall make an impressive picture of a man. Already do, dear man. Already do. You'll have your pick of the Misses."

William cocked his head, considering for a long moment. He glanced at Elizabeth and smiled in some meaningful way that made her stomach twist. "I know I shall."

Bingley laughed. "No false modesty about you. I usually am not one to be outshone, but with your height you have me defeated."

William quirked his eye.

"In, in, in." Bingley grinned. "You have met a few of us, but many more friends to make."

Most of the guests already arrived gathered around William in curiosity. He was the newcomer, and everyone had now heard of the cousin — a second cousin — of Mrs. Bennet's sister-in-law who was recovering from an illness, but only the closer friends of the Bennets had met him at dinners in Longbourn.

The large ballroom was brightly lit, the candles and their drip pans floated high in the air, suspended on nothing. Another one of the little tricks that Jane was so much better at than Elizabeth. Jane placed all the decorative workings herself.

Despite his wealth, Bingley had only one gentleman retainer. He had not sought to expand his household. Bingley rather thought it was not worth the effort and money. The gentleman's gentleman who owed fealty to Bingley had been found by Bingley's father to serve him when he attended university, and not by Bingley himself.

In some of his modes and manners Bingley thought more like the tradesman than the gentleman.

William bowed his head again and again, and he accepted all introductions, and said what was appropriate in return. But his manner was distancing. Between the Bingleys and the Bennets, he was a guest of the best liked and wealthiest families of the neighborhood, and that left everyone predisposed to think well of William. But he was not well liked.

Elizabeth heard her neighbors whisper that he seemed awfully proud of himself for a mixed blood — they assumed him to be one like Bingley — of no grand name or wealth.

Did he have a grand name?

William was grand. Elizabeth had not noticed it before, despite his high manners. But Bingley's giant room seemed small once William stood in it.

The band began.

Though they played on their stage in the corner, the music did not seem to come from their instruments, but to permeate the very air itself. William smiled and bowed to Elizabeth when they lined up, near the top of the line with just Bingley and Jane above them. All of the gentlemen together raised their hands and used a simple working to make their gloves glow. The ladies made their opposite hand to glow in a complementary color, and each couple took the other couple's hand to hold as they stepped through the first movement.

In the corner of her eye, Elizabeth noted Bingley's sister, Caroline. She had not inherited magic from her mother, but she inherited wealth from her father. Miss Bingley always looked a little angry at these gatherings, as she would be one of the only women whose hand did not glow with the fey power.

William used an unfashionably old pattern when he made the steps, and he was slow and halting. But Elizabeth was happy with that. Even if he did not dance well, he danced with her.

Soon, William became more comfortable, and he smiled and stepped his feet faster and faster. Elizabeth had learned her lesson: William could not be trusted to care for himself. She watched his face and his legs closely for any sign that he needed to halt and sit down. But throughout the first part of the dance he kept his pace.

He was stately, grand in his movements.

Their hands touched again and again, and he watched her. Sometimes his eyes drifted down from her face to ogle her person, though he always remembered to look back at her face quickly. He never paid attention to the other pretty girls, most of whom were better dressed than Elizabeth, with more finely worked alterations to their dresses.

One girl had magically powered ribbons, colored like snakes, that waved and weaved around, as though she were Medusa.

After the first half of the dance, when the couples had gone completely through the line and returned to the place where they had started, Elizabeth saw William pant a little. She grabbed his hand, his yellow light against her blue light, and pulled him firmly out of the line. "A little tired — I recognize that in you. You can dance for longer the next time."

William followed her, and with a smile they both sat in chairs in the corner as the second dance of the set began. Above them stood a portrait of the king, obligatory on the walls of any good English gentleman. The king looked firm and lifelike, in a painting that had the vivid colors and three dimensions of real life, despite being a flat piece of enchanted canvas.

They smiled at each other and did not talk, instead enjoying the fine music and the swirling couples. William had a look of tolerance, as though the standard of even Bingley's entertainment, the finest and most expensive in the neighborhood, was much beneath his standards.

When the dance ended, Elizabeth was claimed by her next partner, the Golding brother who had not claimed Kitty's hand for the dance. The dance was filled with a quite boring series of complaints about how Elizabeth's sister could not possibly prefer Mr. Golding's younger brother — the useless, spoiled coxcomb — to himself, and that she clearly played a game to make him jealous by choosing to dance with his brother first, and did Elizabeth have any insight into her sister's mind?

"Kitty's mind? She likes you both very much."

"But does she prefer me or Albert?"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes and shrugged.

The young man, just a year older than Elizabeth, and considered by his parents too young to marry for some years more, mournfully looked at Elizabeth's feet.

The Miss Longs and Miss Bingley hung around William. He spoke animatedly to them. And he made them laugh. They flirted with him. Turning their necks and playing with their hair and laughing. William looked at Miss Bingley and nodded as she spoke.

As soon as the dance completed, Elizabeth walked to the group.

Miss Bingley wheedled, "Mr. William, you danced so well with our Eliza — surely you are recovered enough for another dance. Hello, Miss Eliza. That hair is quite like you."

Elizabeth flushed. She knew the blossoms that her maid had effortfully tied into her hair had been knocked astray when she went briefly to the retiring room.

In this even Miss Bingley looked better than her.

William smiled at her softly. "Her hair is very like Miss Elizabeth."

She knew that William meant to compliment her. But Miss Bingley had not.

The other women were the Miss Longs and they both were called away by their partners for the new dance.

Miss Bingley looked enviously at them as they walked away.

William gestured to his legs. "I apologize for my deficiency that keeps me seated, but might I beg you for a set at the next ball we are both present at?"

"Do you mean that?" Miss Bingley's eyes widened. Elizabeth was surprised too. Very few gentlemen were willing to dance with Miss Bingley.

"It would be my honour."

Miss Bingley smiled widely at him. Elizabeth had never liked the personality of Miss Bingley, but she realized that when Miss Bingley was happy, she was a handsome girl, with a fine female figure.

William must realize it too.

To Elizabeth's disappointment, one of her neighbors came, and applied for her to join him in the line that had just begun to dance downwards. She was led away from Miss Bingley and William.

Part of Elizabeth wanted to sit next to them, put her hand on William's arm, and visibly claim him.

As she danced Elizabeth watched William and Miss Bingley talk together. William looked more comfortable than Elizabeth had expected. Miss Bingley took off her right-hand glove and handed it to William.

Elizabeth's stomach twisted with something she realized was jealousy.

Was she so petty she could not allow William to speak to any other woman?

She and he were bound, but that did not mean he was her property. It did not mean they were together.

When Elizabeth returned to the pair, Miss Bingley smiled delightedly as she took back her glove. It glowed an orange color which matched her dress and feathers.

"You shall need to place it near the foundation stones of Netherfield, or the house you stay in for the potentia to be restored every week or two. But now the glove will respond to your will."

Miss Bingley's glove turned purple and then green and then back to the orange.

"How did you do that!" she exclaimed beaming at William. "No gentleman, even the ones who hire out their skills, could do that. My brother never even thought to try."

"It's a trick. The working connecting you to the glove was used to enchant the equipment of commoner soldiers before guns became common."

"Thank you! Thank you!"

William nodded his head. "It was my pleasure to help you."

Mr. Bingley walked up to them. "Hullo, Mr. William, Lizzy, Caro — time for our dance sister."

She jumped up and grinned at her brother. "Look what Mr. William enchanted for me! Why did you never do anything of the sort for me?"

The glove glowed and Bingley examined it, his eyes glinting with called up mage sight. He whistled. "Is that a Negroli attachment? How do you even know the skill? It is quite archaic."

William made a small shrug. "I picked it up."

"Deuced clever. Rather odd to use an old dueling trick for ornamentation."

Miss Bingley snorted to her brother. "You mean to say you weren't clever enough to think to do this."

"I could not have achieved the effect if I had." Bingley whistled. "I can barely understand what William did, and to do such a working during the course of a set at a ball. My gratitude, my sister will like this very much."

William smiled at them both. "Truly I did very little."

Mr. Bingley then led his sister to the dance line. Her glove now glowed to match Mr. Bingley's. She shot back a look at William and swayed her hips and rubbed her neck.

William's eyes lingered on her movement for a moment before he turned to Elizabeth. "I am glad I was of help to someone."

The way Miss Bingley smiled at William unsettled Elizabeth. She knew Miss Bingley well enough to know Miss Bingley wondered if she might use feminine tricks to capture William's heart, as she wished to marry a gentleman like Mr. Gardiner's mother had.

William sat confidently, kindly, intelligently. He made the armchair into a throne.

They sat together and talked until Elizabeth was called away to dance again.

Every time Elizabeth's dance card was not filled she sat by Darcy. Over the course of the evening he became visibly worn down and less responsive to the people who talked to him. It was not a physical thing, but a mental matter. William did not thrive around other people.

As she liked everything about William, Elizabeth liked even that.

She chased off the two people, a man and a woman who talked to William when she sat down during the second half of the evening, and she quietly sat next to him, watching the crowd dance and play.

Neither of them needed to talk anymore to enjoy each other's presence. The pretty tune ran, it filled the air. She whistled along with the music, wishing that she could dance every dance with William. Young men had always seemed shallow to her, preoccupied with her goal of rescuing William.

William looked around silently with what Elizabeth thought to be a critical look. Looking at Bingley's ballroom with his eyes, she frowned herself. How must it look to William? "They are a little petty, are they not? A great grouping — most of the neighborhood."

"You are less in demand than I had expected."

"That is what you think of? Do you wish solitude?"

"I enjoy seeing you take pleasure — no request for you to leave."

"Oh! I do not care too much for balls. I wish we could dance again. The men know I do not care for them. I had no time for that."

"I do not like how I have changed your life, kept you from enjoying such things—"

"Nonsense, and you know it. I preferred having purpose."

William's happy eyes thanked her again.

"I am not so very pretty." Elizabeth sighed. "Not like Jane. She has never sat out a dance."

"You are so very pretty. You have enough perception to see that. But I will do as you ask, though begging a compliment is a little beneath you: Elizabeth Bennet, you are a ravishingly beautiful creature whose eyes make me think of the moon, and the night, and of sparkling dew on a sunny morning, and—"

"A mixed metaphor!"

"I never claimed to be a great poet — but if you prefer poetry to originality, your lips are red like coral. Flowers do not smell so sweet as the breath which from you reeketh not, and—"

"Stop! Cease! My poor bard." Elizabeth theatrically placed her hands over her ears. "Shakespeare."

"Shakespeare never said quite what I just spoke."

"You don't do that to Shakespeare. He's Shakespeare."

"Au contraire, ma chere. It is you who does not do that to Shakespeare."

"No misquoting Shakespeare."

"Methinks the lady protests too much — but she reads much, such women are dangerous."

"That doesn't even make sense. You merged two different plays."

"Danger knows that William is more dangerous than he, we are two lions littered in the same day, and I the elder and more terrible. Which is why petty men walk under my legs seeking dishonourable graves, while I doth bestride this narrow world like a Colossus."

"Again you ought acquire some false modesty. Terrible, even if both passages were from Caesar — you aren't dangerous."

William grinned boyishly and looked down and shook his head.

"Unfair! What are you thinking? What idea brought that smile to your face?"

"'Tis not entirely proper." He grinned. "You shall need beg it from mine lips."

Elizabeth unconsciously admired his lips. They were pale red, and so, so alluring. Such lips could convince her into any sin. She had already given her heart, soul, and being into William's care.

That thought left a glow in her chest. "I beg you. My dearest, closest William, this humble maid begs you tell me what thought made you smile — what improper thought."

William stared at her wide eyed. He licked his lips. She'd properly discomposed him. Elizabeth smiled very happily, sitting back a little further, but keeping her body angled towards William.

Elizabeth snapped her fingers in William's face. "The improper thought. I expect to hear it. Unless I must beg your lips more."

"Ah. That is to say." William tilted his head, with an adorably preoccupied expression. Elizabeth did not really care if he remembered what he had meant to say. Then his eyes lit up. "Yes — I had wanted to make the point that I would prefer it if you did think I was dangerous. Perhaps rakish even."

He tried to leer at her, but he grinned too widely for his gaze to be lascivious.

Elizabeth laughed. "You wish a rakish air? No, no, no. A thousand times no. A girl only need spend a minute with you to know she can trust your promises. You will always be honourable and keep your word. There is no chance for that thrill of the forbidden—" Elizabeth broke out into helpless giggles at the way William's face fell.

"You poor boy. You have your own virtues. You just are not dangerous."

"I tell you, we are littermates, whelped on the same day, but—"

"Caesar was killed that morning after making this speech. I think the younger brother wanted revenge."

"Perhaps not entirely unfortunate that I am not dangerous, to you."

The two grinned at each other.

William was a sun, and she was his earth, constantly falling towards him, in orbit around him. There was a light in William's eyes, and his buckskin breeches clung tightly about his thighs. His leather shoes were highly polished, though a little scuffed from their former owner. His hair fell over his forehead attractively.

Elizabeth's hand ached with the desire to grab William's hand. Like she would if they were alone.

"Truly, Lizzy, you look exceptionally beautiful tonight. To misuse the bard once more, mine eyes didst pop from my sockets when I beheld that dress."

"You find me beautiful."

"You must know that. I do. Exceedingly, excessively, exclusively."

"Not exclusively. I saw you glance at Jane. And Miss Bingley, and other women. I am not the only attractive woman in the room, nor the most attractive."

"I had not seen you in such a dress before."

"Did you like it?"

William rolled his eyes. "You possess less confidence in your looks than you ought."

"I never cared how I look — you know my domestic accomplishments. You are free now, and… I suddenly want to be attractive." To be attractive to you. "I am not the sort of girl who a gentleman will want for a wife. Too disobedient, and…useless in daily matters."

"Ridiculous."

"My, oh my! That was said emphatically." Elizabeth laughed.

"I ought not — she is my host — I glow with anger every time your mother compares you to Mrs. Bingley. She is beautiful, but you have deeper beauty than even her."

"It is not my looks that bother my mother, but my manners and habits."

"She ought not constantly compare you. She does not do so with Miss Kitty and Miss Mary…"

Elizabeth laughed. "It is good of you to care, but I do not."

He looked at her skeptically.

"I care not."

"On at least seven occasions you have discoursed upon Jane's superiority in appearance, domestic skills, and general docility."

"Oh. Those are simple facts."

"You care."

"I don't!" A skeptical silence. Elizabeth didn't believe herself either. "Jane never rescued anyone. Jane never had the drive to do it. She never had to. She was never bled. She simply met Bingley, and never had any heartache or worry. She always received what she begged from Mama and Papa, and…"

William smiled softly.

"I sound terribly jealous, do I not? — and Jane the sweetest creature in the world, she does not deserve any jealousy." Elizabeth looked at the beeswaxed floor and the dancers' well shaped legs.

"You had a purpose, a great quest, and you found your sang real, your Holy Grail. Now you must determine upon a future goal, future quests. And you are unsure. But—" William leaned towards her. Her eyes locked on his. "You will succeed when you choose. You have all cleverness, all beauty, and all goodness."

Elizabeth nodded, wide eyed. Did he really see her in that way?

"Besides," William's eyes crinkled with amusement, "you have me too."

"I do. Not the least of my assets."

"I am not so impressed with Jane — I have studied her, and it is my unbiased opinion that she is far outshone by a different Bennet sister."

"Now you only flatter me."

"Why do you think I am speaking of you? I refer of course to Miss Mary—"

Elizabeth giggled. "Do you truly see me so?"

"You glow in my eyes." He smiled and stood. "I wish to attempt a second dance tonight. Might I take you as partner an additional time?"

Elizabeth glowed at him. "You are certain?"

"You will be there to support me."


	16. Chapter 16

William's chest burned. He pressed the weights up one more time.

"Another! Another! You can do it!"

Elizabeth's cheery voice shouted. William took a deep breath and carefully steeled himself. If he did not do the movement in exactly the way the physician in Bristol had described and demonstrated, Elizabeth would laugh at him and tell him that she knew he could do a better job.

The slightly chill autumn air blew over his body and William shifted his grip on the light weights the physician wanted him to use. He should be stronger.

William pushed the weights up carefully. He reached the high point of the arc, and then slowly let them down, his chest aching.

"One more! You can do it! Go, William!"

Sweat poured down his face, and he licked a salty droplet off his upper lip. His muscles burned. William suppressed the urge to let go of the weights and brush the sweat off his forehead. Elizabeth watched him, and he could do this right.

William pushed the weights up again. He used a perfect form, and he carefully lowered them again. He could probably push the metal bar up one or two times more safely.

With a gasp William let the weights safely fall to the side. He lay flat and breathed hard, enjoying the feel of the burn on his chest.

Elizabeth jumped up and down, and clapped. "You did it! You did it!"

"Torturer. You delight in pushing me till I hurt."

She laughed.

He sat up. "I could have done another two."

"Or you would have hurt yourself. No! We follow the schedule set up by Dr. Frederick."

"I am still so weak."

"Nonsense. Nonsense. Healthy, growing muscle at a quick pace" — Elizabeth leered at his chest — "it takes time to reverse six years of neglect. You can walk easily for twenty minutes without growing tired, and you—"

"Still weak. I should be able to walk for days without growing tired."

Elizabeth stuck her tongue out at him. "Stop being a child. Now catch your breath, and we'll then do your magical exercises."

"Potentia. Potentia. Were you really educated by such a scholarly gentleman as Mr. Bennet?"

"Ha! I never listen to anyone but my own heart and mind. And my heart says the commoner's word magic has a vastly sweeter ring to the ear than po-ten-ti-a." She dragged out and exaggerated each syllable with a mischievous smile and a musical voice.

"Your heart never attended a great university did it?"

Elizabeth pouted again, exaggerating the face to pretend she was deeply annoyed by his teasing. Her deep glowing eyes showed her delight.

The perfect curve of her lips; he wanted to kiss, and to run his fingers through the curls of her hair and to hold her tight against him and press her delicate bones against his body.

He was starting to rise up again. Blast. Elizabeth was not an object to lust after, but the most beautifully perfect, sweet, innocent and worthy woman in the world. Brilliant, brave, clever, resourceful and endlessly kind to him. In summation: Perfection. Angelic perfection.

Elizabeth's cheeks pinked. "A few more weeks and you will be as strong as any healthy person — you shall keep exercising until you are far stronger than anyone has any business being."

"I—" William felt that anxiety return. He did not wish to recover faster. Perhaps that was the real reason he wished to push himself harder than the doctor recommended. If he strained or sprained a muscle he would need to endure an extra week or two of pain and several additional weeks recovery.

Several additional weeks when he would need Elizabeth's help.

"What is wrong, William?"

She softly placed her hand on his knee.

Elizabeth's mastery of disguise meant there was no chance they would be seen touching each other in such an intimate manner. But that simple fact meant both knew they acted in a way they should not.

William placed his hand over hers. "Not a matter of importance. How am I supposed to strain my potentia today?"

"Don't overstrain yourself again. Not like that day when you hurt yourself."

"Hurt myself?"

She glared at him. William closed his eyes and sighed. Elizabeth saw through him. She was his perfect partner. His most precious person. The one he would sacrifice all the world for. Not because it would be right, but because he could not do anything else.

William slowly exercised his fluvia and portae, pushing and shaping potentia, and feeling the stretch within his being. As he did so he said conversationally to Elizabeth, "Why do you call it magic? Before I met Mr. Bennet, I thought I understood. With a mother who was raised by a stepmother who was a commoner… Mr. Bennet is extremely educated."

"Oh…" She sighed and looked down. "The real story is not funny… I was angry."

"Angry?"

"Papa believed the doctor, not me. Because the doctor was educated. I knew what I felt. I knew you were real. He let you suffer. He made me suffer. He drained me, as a child, because that was the educated scientific thing to do. I hate you gentlemen and your educated vocabulary of science, and scholarship. I read too — nothing explains what is between us. Nothing understands us. But we are real. We are real! It is magic. That old term captures what it means to me. I'll not give the word up."

"I don't wish you to change."

"Not even for you! Papa tried to make me. He thought it was just the delusions, and he became so angry. Magic, magic, magic. I wouldn't stop saying it. He couldn't make me stop. He couldn't. If he wanted me to stop, he should have listened. He wouldn't, because he was educated. Well I don't want that education. And I'm glad they won't let us girls learn so much, because it keeps us from becoming stupid like you all are."

William softly settled the rocks he'd floated around him back on the ground.

Elizabeth glared; not at him, but through him. "Mama believed me. She thought Papa shouldn't let me do anything because the whole matter sounded strange and dangerous — what would the Lucases say if her daughter was so odd. That a man who she knew nothing about needed to be rescued didn't matter to her, but at least she wasn't so educated as to ignore everything I said after the doctor made a pronouncement."

"People are easily confused and wrong. Science lets us see through the confusion. That we still are often wrong and confused…that is a statement about us, not about science."

"No! The world cannot be understood. Things which are true… The truth cannot be found by books. It is living!"

"Science is a matter of experiment and observation, and…" Why was he arguing? Elizabeth's emotion wasn't about the growth of knowledge, the unraveling of mysteries, the way moderns had at last transcended the Romans. "Elizabeth… From the depths of my soul, I owe you such gratitude — you believed. To believe must have been difficult. You could not have been sure."

"I was! I was sure." She nodded jerkily. "I felt terror. Terror that I'd created it all. That they had been right all along. And then… that day when I could not find where you were hidden, I panicked for a moment. It would have been… I do not know. But being wrong would not have bothered me at all. You not existing… if you didn't exist, I would have no reason to exist. I always depended on you existing. If you did not exist…"

"I know."

"You were educated like Papa. That's why you like each other so much. I will not think scientifically. I refuse to."

"You need not."

"Do not patronize me. This is not some womanly weakness where I am allowed to think stupid things because I am handsome and elegant. I refuse such insult. You are free because I refuse education."

"Never, never imagine you are weak. You are strong, capable, great. Not strong for a woman, not great for a woman, but for any gentleman. That is who you are."

"Oh." She beamed at him. "Thank you."

He spoke to her the simple truth. That is who she appeared to him to be.

William stood from where he'd been seated to practice the lifting exercises. He brushed his pants off with his hands. "These exercises are done. I still need to do the throwing exercises."

They walked to the field on the edge of Longbourn where he practiced using magic to throw and guide rocks over the tall stalks of wheat waiting for harvest. William said, "I will be well soon. My weakness is annoying, but I am recovering quickly."

"You do not sound entirely happy about that."

"I am not unhappy."

"No?"

"I cannot imagine being happier than I am now." They reached the field and the smell of ripe wheat wafted over them. The sky was so beautiful. A faint wisp of Elizabeth's perfume reached William's nose. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

She had a beautiful frown. Even her frowns were beautiful.

She leaned one elbow on the rough wooden railing of the fence. The white skin of her wrist glowed in the sunlight, exposed by the way her thin muslin dress draped over her wrist. Three curls had been blown out of her hair arrangement to fall wildly over her cheeks.

William gathered his will and whispered an incantation in Latin. A half dozen large rocks, together weighing more than a dozen men, rose into the air. He swung his wrist in a sharp gesture and they shot forward, attaining a speed close to that of a ball launched from a cannon. William let go of the control he held on the rocks. They hurtled over the wheat field towards a bare hillside where garbage had been traditionally dumped for centuries.

It took the large rocks almost a second to cross the distance. For that brief time William's eyes tracked their movement, which was almost too fast to perceive.

All on target.

Potentia flooded his brain, making the mind run far faster than it could normally. He caught the rocks again as they hurtled towards the cliff face, and with a spasm of his will he grabbed them each again from their flight and in the remaining fraction of a second slowed them to a stop, before they struck the hillside. He then dropped the rocks softly down.

Damn!

He only half caught one rock and the loud crash of the heavy stone hitting the hillside and shattering into a thousand fragments twanged across the field.

William did not curse aloud. Elizabeth was there. True gentlemen should not lose their tempers, not even in their own minds.

He was weak in this far more consequential matter than his body. It was important to be able to use every portion of his potentia. The working had felt right until the last moment. He'd reacted quickly enough. He'd shaped his potentia across the distance. His will had tugged on the rock, and the rock responded.

The portae he'd used to grab it had spasmed and he'd lost the hold.

If he could not do an easy thing… What if he faced a true threat? He might need to protect Elizabeth.

"If you expect me to be impressed, you are sorely mistaken. We both listened to Dr. Frederick, together. It shall take longer for your magical pathways to recover than for your body. You are already so powerful."

"I know."

She laid her hand on his arm. Wonderful familiarity and affection. "What bothers you?"

William frowned and did not reply. He stared at the rocks. He needed to try again, but he had been taught that becoming unhappy with himself when he failed would lead to worsening form and more failures.

"William…" Elizabeth looked down, "if you ask me to, I will cease bothering you for answers. I act as though you must share all your thoughts with me, but you don't and…"

He laid his hand softly on the top of her shoulder. "I…"

"I worry when you worry about something. We are together."

"I fear the future. What will happen after I am recovered?"

"What will happen? Why should anything happen? You will wish to recover your memory, and we will discover who you truly were…and then you will find who your enemy was, and—" Elizabeth gripped his hand tightly. "Do not believe you must fight him. You are safe and hidden here. There is no need to risk yourself."

"That…that is not what frightens me. He does not. I…I do not want to know my past."

"What?"

"I fear it. Deep in my gut I have fear that all which matters — you, the tie betwixt us, my…concern for you, my wellbeing — all will be snapped and torn asunder if I learn what hides in my past. If I remember."

"That is…" Elizabeth pushed William's arm. "We are bound in our souls. This tie, this way our magic speaks the one to the other, we are impossible to break. Fate that cannot be argued against."

"We do not understand. This is why scholarship and natural philosophy have value — they allow understanding. We are nowhere in science. We should not exist. The only reason I believe we exist is that we are here, together. The bond drew you to rescue me. The bond draws me to stay next to you. I comprehend not how."

"William. You are so…perfectly you. You cannot understand. This is spiritual, not a matter of potentia and amenable to science."

"You know this?"

"I always have known."

"Then I know as well, though it feels so strange to accept, as if by faith."

William picked up six more stones from behind him. He let them hover longer this time, mentally trying to feel into his magical pathways, to sense any weakness and to tense himself to manage it.

Elizabeth watched with a critical eye. "Do be careful. Oh! That poor bunny. You destroyed its hole." She bounded towards the creature, but the rabbit skipped away towards the tree line a dozen meters away. A hawk dropped from the heavens towards the fleeing animal. Elizabeth gestured at the hawk, and it fluttered to a stop and, after shaking itself in the air, a little like a wet dog, took off climbing again, no longer interested in its prey.

William smiled at Elizabeth, still holding the rocks in the air.

"What?"

He adored her.

"Go on. Do your manly exercise."

Without even looking towards the hill, William flung the rocks towards it. He kept a close enough hold on them to ensure that he had judged their trajectories correctly, and that they would land safely away from other people.

Then he let go and tried to recapture the rocks in that fraction of a second without looking. He got four of the six, and stopped all of those.

Elizabeth clapped. "Bravo! Bravo! I know that is far more difficult." She put her hand softly on his shoulder. "I am glad."

"For what?"

"You being who you are. You telling me what worried you. Even though you did not want to. I do not worry. We will never be parted."

"I could not survive it. It would rip a hole in my heart, my soul, and the life force would drain out."

"You could not have been a killer before like Mad Jack, or something of that nature. I know you too well."

They smiled at each other.

Darcy looked back into the air, at the poor red feathered hawk whose meal Elizabeth had protected, climbing a thermal to circle and hunt for a different rabbit. "I like your brother-in-law greatly."

"Everyone loves Bingley, but I did not expect you two to take to each other so well. Differing temperaments."

"We are similar enough in values and concerns. He is impossible not to like."

"Jane told me that they both like you very much."

"I hope that liking shall remain."

"Why would Bingley ever dislike you — oh!"

"We have lied to him about who I am."

"That will not annoy him."

William laughed. "No real fear of mine. Bingley is a man who is not annoyed by the small matters."

"I do not know if he or Jane could be annoyed by great matters either."

William shrugged.

"Things are so pleasant now. Once you are recovered, and once you know your past, things will change. The autumn makes a poor metaphor — plants around us are dying, retreating. Our…bond cannot be broken, but…"

William felt the quiver in his stomach again. "You have my fears, now?"

"No!" Elizabeth laughed, thinly. "We shall always be connected. Change, perhaps not for the better — these last weeks, despite the pain and weakness—"

"Which I suffered."

Elizabeth stuck her tongue out at William and poked him. "I suffer with you; you know that."

"You are worried our future will not be as perfect as this moment." William took Elizabeth's hand. "You wish some guarantee our happiness will remain. That these feelings won't hibernate or fail like these plants. I have an idea."

William led Elizabeth to one of her favorite haunts. She had never lost her child's love of dirt, growing things and the outdoors. She lightly hopped onto a fallen log, and then over. William wondered if Elizabeth could be a wood nymph, granted permanent form as his reward for some unknown act of goodness.

He led them to the same hilltop they had climbed the day William sprained his foot.

They entered the small, almost abandoned garden overlooking the fields. The spongy overgrown grass gave under their shoes. During summer there had been a profusion of wild flowers, filling the air with a delicate perfume. A small grove of trees hid the bench, with just the view to the front of it open, displaying the nearby fields, a slow meandering stream, a collection of cows, Longbourn and Meryton.

Autumn had fallen. The flowers and grass were dying back. Leaves fell from the trees in the grove, like a soft yellow rain. During one of the occasions Elizabeth and he had sat here, he had noticed a ripple in the ley lines under this hill that could allow him to pull up a small permanent flow of the raw potentia which flowed through the earth.

It was not nearly enough to establish an actual house on this hilltop, and not many people had William's skill with reading such flows. The old owners had likely never noticed. When Elizabeth asked for a promise of the future, something that would not die with winter, William saw in his mind glorious gardens, set in a snow-covered landscape, staying alive as they were fed by a vast house. He could not see the facade of the great house, but it felt familiar.

"Why have you dragged us here?" Elizabeth sat very close to William when he sat down on the bench to rest.

He breathed heavily, and his legs felt weak from climbing the hill in a rapid ascent. It was still hot enough that a trickle of sweat ran down his back and soaked his shirt. He half consciously called a stiff breeze to flow over him, cooling his body.

Elizabeth was so close. Her leg brushed against his. She held herself close. It made him think she wanted him to hold her, and squeeze her body, and press her so tightly against him that their bodies merged into one, and they could not tell where his skin ended and hers began.

"I have not yet finished exercising my magic today."

Elizabeth's eyes widened. "You! A vulgar term! It must be a special occasion."

"I require your help. I cannot yet channel enough power for what I wish to do."

"Oooh! What will we do?" Elizabeth shook with enthusiasm.

"Take my hand."

William held his hand with the palm up to Elizabeth. She nestled her small warm hand into his. The soft skin brushed over his palm. This was not the time to think about how good her sweet touch felt.

"Mix your potentia with mine."

William placed their hands together on the ground beneath the bench and he let their mixed potentia seep into the ground. He directed it downwards, deeper and deeper in a thin line. Sweat gathered on his forehead. Elizabeth let out a long sigh and gripped his hand tight.

She was not trained to use all of her potentia at once in a burst, or to sustain such a heavy burden for tens of seconds, or sometimes minutes. Only gentlemen who needed preparation for military service were. Her portae were far healthier and more robust than his, and she followed his lead as the flow became rapid when their combined potentia had infused the ground to fifty feet down.

William's arms ached from the flow through his hands, and Elizabeth squeezed his due to the effort. Another three feet. Their line of potentia touched the ley line in the earth. William whispered his incantation, and he willed the earth's own potentia, unshaped and unrefined by the organs of a gentleman, to follow the line he had created.

This was an old familiar activity, although William proceeded slowly so his will could guide Elizabeth's to act in support, and because he had grown out of practice from the disuse of the skill.

Elizabeth trembled next to him. She was not using more than a fraction of the power she could channel, but without training that was as much a changing of mental points as physical, the sustained flow of power was almost painful.

The pressure became less and less as they pulled the ley line higher and higher; at last William changed it into an open spring that ended a few feet beneath the crown of the hill, already beginning to infuse the ground with potentia.

He released the working, but he did not release Elizabeth's hand.

Even without any effort to cultivate the garden, flowers with a sensitivity to flows of potentia would now flourish in the coldest weather.

Elizabeth exclaimed, "Incredible! Wonderful! I have never done anything like that." Sweat fell over her forehead as she panted, her bosom rose and fell quickly, and her eyes shined happily. "Our power intermingled— How did you find the little ley line? Will it last?"

"For several years. After I have rested, we will return and modify it so that it can last forever. As long as the flows in the earth remain."

"I had no idea such a working would feel so…difficult. And satisfying. I feel powerful."

"You are. You are remarkable. Elizabeth…"

"We did it! Why? What next—"

"Plants will grow here during any time of the year, and with a little effort we can turn this into a summer garden that flowers all the yearlong. Here time will be delayed — you need not worry for the winter."

"Oh…" Elizabeth let out a soft sigh. Her face went soft and almost weepy. "For me. Thank you, thank you. William, I…"

She threw her arms around him in a tight hug. Her breasts pushed against his chest and her hips pressed into his hips. They held each other tightly, their warmth seeping into each other. Elizabeth stepped back and looked into his eyes. She wet her lips, and William could not stop himself from looking at her red lips, and back at her eyes.

Elizabeth's face leaned towards William, and he felt the desperate desire to kiss her perfectly shaped face and lips.

Everything would change. Immediately. He could not marry her unless he knew who he was. He yet feared of what would happen once he knew.

William sharply turned away from Elizabeth and looked at the field. The golden oaks and aspen, full of their last glories before the dying of the winter stood tall about them.

He turned back towards her. Her lips were slightly parted, and she pressed one hand softly against her cheek. Her eyes were wide. William flinched away. She looked hurt.

She wanted his kiss. But he couldn't when he had no right to kiss her so. When he was not yet able to beg for her hand, and promise her all his life.

William swallowed and, without quite looking at Elizabeth, asked, "What flowers ought we cultivate?"


	17. Chapter 17

Elizabeth did not know what she would tell Jane — years earlier, she had not told Jane she lied to Papa, fearing, most likely rightly, that Jane would have told Papa she still had the hallucination. Jane would have done it because she was worried for Elizabeth and her sister's health was more important than her confidence.

Elizabeth had not risked it, and the secret always left a little barrier in Elizabeth between them. She could not trust Jane in a case where it truly mattered.

That barrier remained between her and everyone but William. She should be so happy. His friendship was enough — why did he not kiss her the day before? He had felt the moment as she had.

Advice. Elizabeth wanted advice. And going to see her sister in her large estate was the best that Elizabeth could do to seek advice.

When they were both alone in Netherfield's drawing room, Jane turned to Elizabeth and embraced her tightly. Elizabeth felt the bump from Jane's expanding belly. "Charles told me what Mr. William said — about being imprisoned for years and not remembering anything from before."

Elizabeth smiled at her sister widely. "He told me he would talk to Bingley."

"So shocking. Such cruelty — that men would do such a thing to each other. Never had I imagined it!"

Jane responded exactly as Elizabeth predicted she would. Her sister even shook her small delicate fist. She looked angelically pretty, making the dress she wore an object of artistry.

"William has suffered greatly. At the very first…when he was so weak; almost helpless." Elizabeth shivered.

"Such evil. I hate that such can happen. There are such stories from history — or other countries, like what the revolutionaries in France did to their noble gentlemen. But I see so much goodness in people. It is easy to forget evil can exist — William is so good!"

"It was not…pleasant for me to see how he'd been treated."

"Such a kind man! I am not surprised that you had kept a secret — something seemed missing." Jane frowned pensively.

"I…" Elizabeth hesitated. Jane's blond hair fell in perfect curls around her face, which was as sweet and pretty as that of a carved Madonna. William had not told Bingley everything.

She and William had decided to tell no one beyond the Gardiners about the connection between them. William believed it would be dangerous for her if it became widely known. She did not begrudge his fear for her safety. Not after what he had suffered.

Even so he had thought Mr. Bennet should be told.

Last time she told Papa everything…no one had believed she was telling the truth. Jane had believed Papa and the doctor instead of Elizabeth too. Despite Jane's sweetness, Elizabeth did not trust her understanding enough.

Jane put her hand comfortingly on Elizabeth's arm and squeezed. "We are close, even if you are private."

"I have reasons for my secrets."

"Lizzy." Jane's head bobbed up and down shaking her curls as she smiled and laughed like a cherub. "You need not explain. I understand."

Jane was perfect.

"But it is so strange. You and he…when he was a relation of Mrs. Gardiner, and we knew who he was… We do not know who he is. I worry. You and William are so…together."

Elizabeth laughed. "Whatever are you talking about? Me and William?"

"Yes. You and William."

The two sisters looked at each other.

Jane laughed and embraced Elizabeth tightly. She waggled her finger in front of Elizabeth's face. "No pretending! I know you too well — I am happy for you, though worried."

Oh. Jane thought they were likely to marry. Elizabeth sighed. Couldn't William have kissed her?

The blue silk folds of Jane's dress wrapped around her, and the unconscious magic of Jane made her skin glow subtly, enhancing her beauty. The lacework about her neck and wrists seemed almost alive.

If she could make a dress fit her as well as Jane's dresses fit her, William would have not been able to keep himself from kissing her.

"William does not… He would not…" Elizabeth was on the edge of tears. Anytime she was near William she had to suppress this feeling and stay happy. Even though he now refused to meet her eyes too closely, and he silently stopped her from touching his arm or hand the way he'd let her before.

"Lizzy?" Jane's soft voice turned her name into a question. Why, even though Jane didn't know everything, was she reassured and restored by her elder sister's unconditional affection?

"He doesn't have that sort of affection for me. We are only friends."

"I see how he acts around you. He is a man in love."

"No! He isn't. He…"

"What happened?"

"Two days ago. You know how I help him to do his exercises. He… we…" Elizabeth had to swallow back the lump in her throat.

She would not cry.

But William was not here. He rode across the fields around Netherfield with Bingley. She didn't need to pretend she wasn't hurt, and that everything was the same.

Jane's warm arms, surprisingly strong for a woman who usually seemed soft, came around Elizabeth's neck and squeezed her head against Jane's shoulder. Elizabeth rubbed her nose into the smooth fabric of Jane's dress. It was so comfortable like this, as though she were a skinny little girl again, running to her older sister.

As she cried Elizabeth explained, "We went up to that hilltop, with the little abandoned garden next to the Hawthorne field. We… he brought up a flow of magic that sat under the land. We shall be able to grow flowers there year-round, and I helped him… it was so… romantic. And sensual. And we were so close. I wanted him to kiss me. And—"

Elizabeth's face flamed and she hid her head against Jane's stomach so that her sister could not see her face. "I showed him, with my expression, that I wanted him to kiss me, and when he hesitated I leaned towards him to try to kiss him. And he turned away, and stared at the fields for a long minute, and when he looked back at me he pretended nothing had happened."

She held her face against Jane's belly. The baby kicked against Elizabeth's cheek. Jane's slow calm breathing continued, and she rubbed her fingers into Elizabeth's neck in a comforting slow rhythm.

Elizabeth calmed. The acceptance of her sister comforted her. Her sister had an enigmatic smile which was lit by the sun shining through the drawing room window.

"I was horridly, horridly forward and, and…indecent!"

"Not indecent…unless you did not tell me an important detail." Jane quirked her head with a questioning look.

Elizabeth squeaked and laughed at Jane's unexpected joke.

"There you look better."

"But I have offended William, and he will never forget it, and he will always know that I am…"

Jane kept looking at Elizabeth. Her bright eyes smiled.

Elizabeth trailed off. "I don't understand what he is thinking."

"The birth of wisdom. Knowing that at least you know nothing." Jane smirked at Elizabeth.

"I must reach the second stage, where I know what he is thinking."

"That is the fourth stage at the earliest." Jane quirked her head to the side. "Why must you know?"

Despite wanting to kiss him and being hurt over his rejection of her overture, Elizabeth had never said it aloud to herself. "I love him. Completely. Perhaps I always have."

"I am glad, because I am quite sure he loves you as well."

"Why is he acting like this!"

Jane shrugged her shoulders in an elegant gesture of not knowing. "You know much more than I do."

Elizabeth groaned. "You were supposed to answer all of my questions! But I do feel better. He must be refusing my attention now. He won't let me stroke his arm the way he used to, and he doesn't meet my eyes in the same way."

"Stroke his arm?" Jane raised her eyebrows.

"I did not just say that." God, she had just admitted to her sister how indecently forward she was with William. She was indecent.

Jane shook her head in a slight gesture, and then made her delightful little tittering laugh. "My Lizzy, you did just say that. I have half a mind to speak to Papa. The flirting you described with your eyes was one thing. But stroking arms… you should only do that once you are married. I do not approve at all — I am glad William stops you now. He has come to his senses."

"You mean he no longer wants me?"

"Such a pessimist! It must be painful to always think as you do…"

Elizabeth groaned. Jane had become more assertive since her marriage and pregnancy. Elizabeth was not sure if she liked the change in her sister. "What does coming to his senses mean?"

Jane rolled her eyebrows

Elizabeth tried to think. All she remembered was the slap of rejection when he turned away from her as she leaned her face towards him. And the worse rejection when she tried to touch his arm again, and he stood up abruptly and walked to the side, and pretended he hadn't noticed her.

"He is drawing away. We are still just as close in…other ways, but any distance hurts."

"We cannot always have everything we want."

Elizabeth looked blankly at Jane.

"Lizzy, after the story you told me…if William was not withdrawing himself, I would have needed to break your confidence to speak with Papa. It sounds as though you have been behaving like… only an affianced or married couple should touch each other so often."

Elizabeth glared at Jane's inoffensive blue and yellow sofa.

"I am surprised you have not given any thought to what Papa would do if he caught you behaving in such a way. I am disappointed in Father."

"You know him." Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "You did not care so much that Papa did not do the duty himself when I was your chaperone during your engagement."

"We were affianced. You should not be allowed to spend so much time near William until you are."

"Papa has not stopped me." As soon as she said it Elizabeth flushed and then went pale. She had not acted in a manner that a girl who respected her father would. She had only been able to spend so much time with William because she had learned to hide her actions from Papa so well.

When Papa was there, she and William acted very differently. Even though they had not spoken of it, William was part of this silent conspiracy against her father.

Jane said with the hardest expression Elizabeth had ever seen on her face, "Elizabeth Bennet, you are better than that."

Jane was right.

She put her hand on Elizabeth's arm. "William knows Papa would not allow you to behave in this manner, and he is an honourable man. That is why he will not kiss you when he is in no position to offer marriage."

Oh. Of course. That was why he had decided he must discover his name — so that he could marry her. Now his insistence on doing so made sense to Elizabeth.

Elizabeth glowed with happiness.

"Thank you, Janie!" Elizabeth kissed her sister on the cheek. "You always make me happier when I talk with you!"


	18. Chapter 18

The past three days had hurt. William missed touching Elizabeth.

Simply holding that little distance which he must, until he could offer to marry her, hurt. After he asked her to marry him, he would need to approach Mr. Bennet for permission, and then he would need to be even more separate from Elizabeth until he recovered his memory.

The deuce. He missed those touches. He missed the way they brushed their hands past each other. He missed their legs pressing against each other. He missed the feel of her fragile, yet strong, hands in his.

Three days.

What would happen over the next weeks or months? He must seek his memory, terrifying though such thought was. But he could not set out from Longbourn in the quest for hidden knowledge until he could fight and defend himself.

Rain rained outside; a dreary British storm, quite fitted to his mood.

"William. Follow me." Elizabeth stood in the doorway to his bedroom, where he'd retreated for solitude from Miss Kitty and Mrs. Bennet's pattering. Also to keep himself from the temptation to stare at Elizabeth. Like he did now. Her breasts. Her smile. Her dark hair in flowing ringlets falling around her ears. The doorway glowed with her presence.

He was an honourable man; he would not pursue a girl when he could make no promises.

She waved her hands in an irritated gesture. "Come. Stand, we are going outside."

William's eyes glanced out at the pouring rain.

"Are you a gentleman or not? You've recovered enough to umbrella yourself."

"Have I annoyed you somehow?"

"Yes."

William would have asked how, but he was fairly sure he knew.

"Get up." Elizabeth made the same irritated wave of her hands. "We are going outside, to our garden, and we are going to talk it out there. Now up."

William grabbed his light coat from where it hung next to his bed and put it on as Elizabeth watched. They went downstairs and tied on their boots. Despite the annoyance in her manner, Elizabeth looked happy. She didn't try to touch him in the way she habitually did.

Grey sky, thunder, lightning.

Wet, wet, wet.

Water bounced away from both Elizabeth and William, repelled by their potentia. Their boots sank into the mucky mud, and they could not be kept water repellent, because that would remove the traction along the bottoms and make them slip. At least the servants could clean the boots off for them when Elizabeth and William returned.

A few commoners were visible on the road, desultorily working or traveling despite the weather.

Elizabeth took them off the main track to Meryton and led them through the field — the ditch was flooded, so instead of walking through it, they walked along the top of the ditch, stepping around tall soggy stalks of wheat.

What did Elizabeth want?

William's stomach squirmed with a weird anticipation. Elizabeth walked in front of him. Her purple pelisse clung around her hips, and the motion of her legs kept his attention. They did not speak as they walked.

Elizabeth reached the little hill, and she glanced back at him, and smiled enigmatically after looking his body up and down. They climbed quickly to the top of the hill, and William only breathed a little more heavily. He was stronger than he had been even just three days earlier when they pulled the ley line to the surface of the hill. The spring of potentia burbled into the ground, making the hilltop comforting and warm.

The tension from using their own potentia to protect themselves from the rain disappeared as they drew on the power in the ley lines to do so.

Elizabeth looked at him. She kept looking at him. She tapped her foot and frowned.

William smiled back at her, waiting.

She threw her arms wide. "By God, I thought it would be easy once I dragged you out here."

Something strange played in William's stomach. It was something that overrode his normal intentions, his sense of honour, everything but Elizabeth's presence. "What…" William spoke in a low voice. He closed the distance between them, standing just a few inches from her body. "What did you believe would be easy?"

She looked up at him. Her eyes were wide, and scared. William felt through the connection betwixt them a sense of rightness.

He took her hand in his. "What, Lizzy? What do you wish to do?"

She threw her arms around him, one around his back the other around his neck, squeezing him tightly against her body.

She kissed him.

William's arms came around Elizabeth and he squeezed her tightly against him as they kissed softly.

It was dishonest, discreditable, dishonourable to kiss her.

He could not stop.

She was willing; she wanted him. The touch of Elizabeth's lips was magic. He was losing his mind about her lips. The feel of them pressed against each other, her touch, the little sounds she made, her hand on his back, his side, around his neck. His hand, squeezing her flanks, gripping the cotton material of her dress. His hand on her body.

His lips left her mouth, and he nibbled her neck. William was desperate to touch more, to touch everywhere. Elizabeth had placed them under a working of invisibility. No one would ever see what they did. She gripped at his hips, reaching into his coat, under his shirts, to touch his skin.

Her hands were perfect, divine, Elizabeth.

William pulled his mouth from her neck to kiss her on the lips once more. Without his lips leaving her mouth, he took her hand and wrapped it around his neck once more. They both slowed, softly, languorously kissing. They explored each other's mouths, letting their bodies grow accustomed to the rightness of this feeling, to how closely bound they were.

They sat next to each other on the bench. Elizabeth climbed into his lap, and William let her stay there. They pressed their foreheads against each other.

"Not yet, this was not supposed to happen yet."

"Quiet now," Elizabeth whispered. She kissed him again.

He nibbled down her jaw. He tasted her ear. He kissed her upon the mouth, upon her red lips. Her small tongue pressed against his.

Too soon.

This was upon them.

He drew away. They breathed heavily. Elizabeth misread the seriousness in his eyes. "I love you. I do not regret our closeness. I would never — you know I would never act so with—"

"Quiet now, you." He kissed her again. They clung to each other.

William, smiling widely, set Elizabeth to sit on the marble bench, and without letting her hands go he knelt in front of her, letting the mud from the ground soak into the knees of his trousers. "Elizabeth Bennet, will you accept my hand in life? Will you be my partner, connected to me forever? I cannot promise you a name, I cannot promise you wealth, I cannot promise you even a comfortable house, I cannot promise anything but myself. If I am enough for you, I love you. I love you soul, body and spirit. I love you with my entire soul, my whole body, my complete spirit. Dearest, most perfect, sweetest Elizabeth. I love you. Will you marry me?"

"Oh, oh, oh! William, you are completely enough. Always. There is nothing, ever, that I could want besides you. I—" She embraced him so tightly it almost hurt. "Oh! I love you so."

"Do you?" He embraced her tightly. "I adore you. Ardently."

She giggled and then kissed him. "Your face, your hands, your strength, your spirit. I love you, completely. Soul and body. It is not just this bond between us, it is everything about you. Dear, dear, dear William!"

Elizabeth snuggled in his arms.

Slowly worry returned to William. "Truly too early."

"I care not."

"It shall not be so easy. We cannot call the banns and simply marry in three weeks' time. I must know my name and my past first."

"Why? I know you think that."

"What if something is in my past. Some crime, or… I can feel in my soul that I am free to love you and have no superior connection. But your father ought to demand proof."

Elizabeth snorted and squeezed him tighter.

"I cannot sign a binding contract. I must know my name. If I do not know who I am, I cannot bind myself. My fear about my past still sits on me, but it is irrational. And it is beneath me to be driven by fears. I must know; I must learn."

"Nonsense." Elizabeth shook her head. "But I feel a chill. I would rather you married me immediately, no wait."

"I cannot."

"Promise me, when you leave to seek knowledge, you will take me with you."

"We are not yet married."

"Everyone will know that we will marry. I know there is nothing in your past that will keep us apart. Nothing can keep us apart. It is fated. We are bound already. Our souls are. I only have this strange fear. Do not go off alone."

"I shall not."

"Then I fear for nothing." Elizabeth pulled his lips to hers again.


	19. Chapter 19

William sat with his normal semblance of confidence across from the armchair in the library Mr. Bennet sprawled out in. He did not feel confident. He had to tell this man that he wished to marry his daughter, despite having no name or basis for supporting her.

At Elizabeth's insistence, and because of his own anxiety, they had delayed asking for permission for several weeks as he recovered and then surpassed a merely healthy physical state. He felt deep in him that he needed to be prepared, in his magic — Elizabeth's words had begun to rub off on him — and in his body before he sought his past.

Likely that had been an excuse, created by that thing. The anxiety William had decided was not truly part of his being. But he had allowed that delay.

The time was now past that he would allow further delay, now that winter brought cold across the isle of England.

Mr. Bennet pulled his feet off the footrest in front of him and sat up, placing his book to the side. "A particular matter brings you here? What matter? I can tell from your face."

"You can?" William liked to imagine he was something of a closed book when he wished. Elizabeth could read him easily, but she was Elizabeth.

"Don't be flustered. If you only showed that poker face, I'd not be able to read it, but when you want to indulge me with talk about philosophy or science you display a different face."

William considered this. It distracted him from starting his explanation.

Mr. Bennet spoke again. "I don't want to spend all day watching you. Out with the matter."

"As you can see I am fully recovered, in body and spirit."

"But not in soul. You must yet search out the truth of your memory and past. I have a suggestion to help you."

"Thank you, but that is not the only matter to talk of. Before I go… or after… or I mean — I wish to marry Elizabeth."

"Elizabeth?" Mr. Bennet's tone was simultaneously unsurprised and unhappy. "My daughter, Elizabeth?"

"Yes."

Mr. Bennet laid his spectacles on the side table and then looked at them for a long time. He murmured, "Well, well, well."

"I understand your hesitation. Were I in your place, I would not easily give a favorable response—"

"She also hopes to marry you? You would not have come to me without her word. So you both have formed an attachment?"

"Yes."

"I cannot give my approval at the present. You already know why. You do not even know your own name. You might even be married already. You can offer nothing to her until you know."

"I am certain I am not married. I have instincts about things. Preferences, things I expect and the like. I would feel constrained around Elizabeth if my honour were tied."

"Hmmmm. Likely true. But your instinct is not sufficient proving to overcome my reasonable hesitation. I dare say, you will tell me your instincts also prove you no criminal fleeing the crown's justice. And not a man ineligible for another like reason."

"I believe I would know it in any of those cases. Though I am less certain about such particulars. Also, were I a criminal that is what I would say."

Mr. Bennet smiled at William's joke with flat indulgence. He said thinly, "What do you wish? You came knowing I could not give my consent."

"I merely wish you to understand my hopes, and Elizabeth's hopes. I intend to search out information about my identity in the area where Elizabeth found me. I do not know who I was, but I will show myself to be a man worthy of Elizabeth's hand."

"I do not doubt it. I consider you a worthy addition to my family. You do not need a name of great significance. Something Gardiner said to me… you are a man whose own being and nature creates his worth and consequence. I almost would prefer if you were to be without family claims, so you and Lizzy would live near here."

That echoed what Darcy had often thought — fearing how the claims of another family could conflict with his belonging to Elizabeth.

"Hmmm." Mr. Bennet sat straighter. "You wish to search for your identity, but not for your memories?"

"I have another choice? I cannot remember, it is strange for a gentleman, but I am aware of no procedure to correct the failing."

"You perhaps will not be able to recover your memories, but you ought to try. Consulting a specialist shall be a great deal simpler, and I dare say, safer than the schemes hatched in your mind. Do you plan to wander round the whole of the Peak district searching for clues that disappeared completely months ago?"

William grimaced.

"This has been on my mind," Mr. Bennet said. "I have a friend at university who is an eminent doctor specializing in disorders of the mind. I already thought to send him a letter — we keep a slow correspondence, and it is some months past my turn to write him. He will be fascinated by your case, but I hesitated as I knew you wished to keep information about your location as hidden as possible."

"Such a man must be very expensive."

"I can afford his fee, if he charges it to me." Mr. Bennet waved his hand to the side. "If you marry Lizzy, consider any charges connected to regaining your memory in the nature of a dowry. It will be cheaper than a real dowry."

William did not want to consult this specialist.

He could give no reason for his cold feeling. Anxiety was beneath him. "Tell me more of this friend of yours. This eminent doctor."

"Worried? Mr. Roberts is a Darcy — a second cousin to the family. He is part of the house. You need not worry about his reputation. He'll keep your secrets. Nobody can steal secrets from the minds of that family. They know how to be quiet."

"Which family?" William cocked his head, confused.

"The Darcys."

William quizzically looked at Mr. Bennet, whose expression showed he expected William to recognize the name. He did in a way. The Darcy family had been mentioned in passing two or three times. They were probably a prominent Hertfordshire family who stayed mostly in their own domains, explaining both why everyone in this country recognized them, and he did not.

Mr. Bennet tilted his head to critically study William. He tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair in a sudden agitation. "You do not know who they are?"

"I do not. Ought I?"

Mr. Bennet sat very still.

Darcy felt a worry; he wondered why.

Mr. Bennet said in a measured tone, "They are a family with great resources and a sterling reputation. Better than sterling. A good name."

There was no rational reason for anxiety. His overset mind wished to invent phantasms to frighten him. Anxiety had led him to delay a great time already. "I will follow your counsel and visit this Mr. Roberts."

"Hmmmm. You will? I wonder… he'll be surprised if… I will write him immediately; the letter will be posted this afternoon. I wish to know myself. If he thinks it is worth seeing you — but he will. He will, I dare say, find seeing you very worthwhile."

He pressed his chin on his hand, and Mr. Bennet carefully studied William's face. "The deuce!"

Mr. Bennet's manner made William's gut twist anxiously.

Mr. Bennet stood and pushed his hand out to William. "It has been an honour hosting you. I must ask that you spend no more time alone with Lizzy. Not until you know who you are."

There was something strange about Mr. Bennet's manner. "I will respect your authority, and…"

"I know you shall. No more private conferences. Your oath as a gentleman upon that. I trust your oath — Lizzy can hide from me if she wishes, but if you promise, I'll rest easy."

"You have my word."

Mr. Bennet brushed his hands in a broomlike gesture. He walked with William to the door. "I must have privacy to write. Tell Lizzy the news, such as it is."


	20. Chapter 20

The French words of Diderot's massive encyclopédie swam in front of Elizabeth's eyes. The huge volume smelled of that inky musk acquired by books without preservatives cast on them. Her command of the French language was decent, but not as strong as William's perfect understanding. With a laugh she handed it to him. "The entry talks about amnesia a great deal, and blesse a la tete."

"No, Lizzy, pronounce the 'a' with the back of your throat."

She stuck her tongue out and poked William as he easily picked up the book and held it in front of his face. Kitty was their chaperone, her nose stuck in a gothic romance by one of Anne Radcliffe's lesser imitators. Kitty made no effort to ensure that Elizabeth didn't take too many liberties.

"I'll pronounce it how I wish."

"But then you will not be pronouncing it as the French pronounce it."

She poked him again, but he did not poke her back. Elizabeth knew why — he'd like to tease her, but he considered his oath to Mr. Bennet to extend to not touching her in that way. Besides Kitty was in the room.

Elizabeth understood. During the weeks that she'd insisted on waiting to tell Papa about their understanding, so that William could finish recovering, he'd always felt guilty when they hid from everyone to kiss and touch. Fortunately, she had found a skill for using her arts and allurements for seductive persuasion.

It was a delightful surprise to be good at those games. Elizabeth had thought that she would never be very attractive. With William, she knew he was very attracted to her. She could convince him to do almost anything.

Unfortunately, she could not convince him to break his explicit word of honour. He had given his oath as a gentleman to not take any liberties with her until he knew his past, and so by King George himself, William would not.

At least she enjoyed making William squirm when she bit her lip, or barely brushed against him, or said something that reminded him of how they kissed each other. They had never engaged in more intimate activities than long, languorous, spicy, pulling kisses.

William was a fundamentally honourable man. She had pushed him as far as she could, but she respected that even though she felt in her heart they were already closer than man and wife, he intended to wait until they were married to unite their bodies.

He held the heavy tome Elizabeth had handed him extended out in his arms with his back straight. If Elizabeth tried to hold a tome that big straight out like a small novel, her arms would become sore in less than a minute unless she lightened it with her magic. William claimed his neck got sore if he read something laid flat, and normal reading desks just weren't tall enough for him.

Elizabeth was tired of the endless wait for information from Father's friend Mr. Roberts. He probably had the same attitude towards correspondence as her father, and they would hear from him at last in a few months at the earliest.

Mr. Roberts was apparently quite prominent for a man who wasn't the head of a family. He belonged to one of the greatest families in the land, and he had great professional prominence. Surely someone like that wouldn't treat letters the way Papa did. Probably nobody else did. Elizabeth was determined to go with William and be there when he talked to Mr. Roberts.

She remembered.

Mr. Roberts had recommended to Papa the specialist who determined that she should be bled. This Mr. Roberts would now decide to have William bled, for some nonsense reason.

While they waited for news, the two of them researched memory loss and recovery. Now that he had committed to the task, William restlessly sought understanding. He ransacked Papa's library and every bookstore within a ten miles ride of Longbourn for books that might have information about his strange condition.

This volume of the French encyclopédie must weigh at least five — probably ten, or maybe fifteen — pounds. William casually held it out at arm's length. Such nice thick shoulders. The blue fabric of his coat wrapped around his biceps and she wanted to squeeze and hold them again. He'd changed so much since he'd been that thin prisoner with the burnt off beard she'd rescued.

William flipped the page and pulled one cheek back in a concentrating expression.

Elizabeth's breath slipped out slowly.

She would love him just as much if he looked exactly as he did that day in the prison. His appearance had nothing to do with why she loved him so much. But now that he'd filled out so well, she could stare at him without ever stopping. Her lust was not wrong to feel, as they were united by their bond and soon would be united by the church.

As William read a frown worked up his face. There was a little furrow between his eyes that she'd like to touch, and maybe kiss. His eyebrows were thick and a few long strands of dark black hair stuck out appealingly. Maybe she should tell him to trim his eyebrows. She wanted to run a finger over them. And she would poke him till he smiled so she could see his dimple. Then she would poke that and kiss the skin.

Elizabeth had never thought about such things before the past weeks. There were so many possibilities for how they could touch their bodies against each other, and she wanted to try all of them.

William groaned, and Elizabeth was pulled from her dreams. He set the book down and rubbed at his eyes.

"No promising finds?"

"Every text on the matter reads the same. The occasions studied happened to commoners, in most cases as the sequel to a serious trauma to the head. If the sufferer does not make unaided recovery within a few days or weeks, the injury is irreversible, even when a gentleman physician attempts to heal the victim."

"Your memory will be fixed."

William moved his hand to brush the back of her knuckles. "You know it?"

"Of course I do! One of us must."

William sighed.

Elizabeth kicked his shin. "Stop that!"

"There are few cases I can draw upon for a hopeful example, and even if I learn — it is irrational, but I fear."

"You didn't suffer an injury to the head. You were placed under a spell — remember that book you found yesterday about memory magics? That is what has been done to you."

"The absence of all happenings, all episodes, from before I was strapped to that demon machine has little similarity to the spells described therein."

William was right. He was unhappy, and the tiny way he fidgeted his fingers showed he was anxious, again.

"I am frightened by possibilities of what I will find — 'tis irrational, I know." William looked at the musty paper of the French encyclopedia. "Perhaps my fear is why the loss of memory has such a hold."

Elizabeth grabbed his hand and squeezed tightly. She felt him relax and squeeze her back. Then he pulled his hand away, remembering his oath to her father.

"You…you shall not discover that you are married, a murderer, or a French spy." Elizabeth grinned. "I know! You are the eternal wandering Jew."

"If Mr. Roberts cannot help me, I shall return to where I had been imprisoned and track information from there about where I came from."

Elizabeth froze, a cold feeling in her chest. "You promised you would bring me with you."

"Your Papa would not like me to."

"You will bring me with you, or you will not go at all."

"To the North? I would not want to bring you in range of his lands."

"If you are in range of him, then I am."

William squeezed her hand to comfort. It did not work.

She just gripped him tightly, images of his recapture, or that fiend murdering her William. "You aren't ready to fight him. I remember how he felt when he was near me. You never will be ready! You can't — you can't survive. I can't… I couldn't survive, if…"

He looked deep into her eyes. "It is not I who is unready. Even if my memory is returned, I must face him. I cannot marry you while that enemy lingers awaiting chance to strike. I cannot avoid my fate by refusing to seek it."

"You can! He has no idea where you are, and…and…" Elizabeth blubbered helplessly.

William stood, as though he were going to pull her against him in an embrace. But Kitty was still in the room, reading her novel, except she now looked quizzically at both of them. "What are you crying 'bout, Lizzy?"

"There is such a sad story in our book — about a fool."

"An honourable man, who might triumph," William replied.

Kitty shook her head, shrugged, and began to read again.

Elizabeth embraced William, and nestled her face against William's warm living chest and gulped deep breaths of his peppery scent. Tears flowed down her face and into his coat.

This time he did not immediately push her away, despite his oath to her father.


	21. Chapter 21

"Here's the reply from my friend. Roberts is hopeful for the case."

Mr. Bennet flapped the sheet of paper in front of William's nose. He looked grumpy. Mr. Bennet had been grumpy with William, and distant, since the day William asked for Elizabeth's hand.

William took the paper. "Something amiss in his reply?"

"Oh, nothing." Mr. Bennet shrugged expansively. "I'll have to go to a damned lot of bother to pay him. But look, read. The letter is for you as much as me."

"I will happily work in any capacity for you, for however long it takes to repay Mr. Roberts. I know—" William instantly replied, but he knew from Mr. Bennet's manner that whatever he owed Mr. Roberts was not what in fact bothered Elizabeth's father.

"Hahaha." Mr. Bennet's laugh proved that. "It will not take that long to give him what he wants. Read the letter."

 _My dear Mr. Bennet,_

 _I would be delighted to see the exceptional young man who inspired you to at last write such a lengthy reply to mine of five months ago. The case you describe contains great scientific and professional interest, as it is rare to encounter a gentleman with amnesia. Potentia in most cases protects the mind, even when the body has decayed greatly with age or been injured substantially._

 _Simply out of curiosity, and without regard to our friendship, I would happily see him._

 _The case is not by any means hopeless. Just as potentia protects the memories of a gentleman, and keeps them fresher and more vivid than those of a commoner, I suspect potentia must be involved in suppressing memories in Mr. William's case._

 _However, no promise can be offered until I examine the patient. Send him my way. The only payment I demand is a letter of some length to be sent with him of a more personal nature than the note asking for my help._

 _Your old friend and fellow Cambridgeman_

 _S. Roberts_

William put the letter back onto Mr. Bennet's fine rosewood desk. Anxiety mixed with excitement burned in William's veins. Once he knew, and once Mr. Bennet knew, then he and Lizzy would be able to kiss again while they waited for the date they could marry. He imagined her weight on his lap; her arms around his neck again.

Mr. Bennet said with a gleam in his eye, "What think you?"

"Do you truly dislike writing letters so much?"

"Ha! That is not your real thought. It is not your place to criticize me, even if you would never act so. My friendships are not the sort to be harmed by delays — what worries you?"

"I confess that I fear a little what I may learn."

"Yes. I understand that fear… William, even if you are free to marry my Lizzy — I believe you are — you may no longer wish to marry her once you know what family and name you belong to."

"Never! Never. She and I — we are connected."

"Ah! Youth! Yes! Quite seemly to be so attached. Yet, once you have your memories, you will not be the same person you are now. You are grateful and infatuated, but… you are not honour bound."

"I have asked for her hand. A gentleman cannot remove himself."

"You, an amnesiac, a man with no remembered connections, have asked for Elizabeth's hand. What ties we have to blood and house are deeper than those of affection. The words of a man in your position cannot bind the man he will become once he knows what house he belongs to. I feel this as a master. You have a connection to a house, a house greater than my own."

"My wishes cannot be changed by that."

The middle-aged man pulled at his ear. "William, you may not exist in the way you do at present. Our nature, our character, who we are is composed of memories and associations. I hardly am the same person I was at your age. For you to gain such a large new set of associations, and associations and memories of such great consequence, I…I would eat a hat if you are not greatly changed."

A cold chill went through William.

Time changed all men — through memories accreting upon the soul — William was not the same person he had been the day he first saw Elizabeth; a shining apparition covered in dust. But Mr. Bennet understood not the connection between his soul and hers. The rebirth of his memories would not sever the cord betwixt them. While that bond was there, he and Elizabeth would always be part of each other.

He remembered the fear he spoke to Elizabeth. That they did not understand their connection.

Mr. Bennet wore a heavy red jacket and dyed wool cap. The thin winter light bouncing through the blinds illuminated the wrinkles and sallowness of Mr. Bennet's skin. He looked older than he had ever seemed before. The power of Longbourn flowed through the room and its master like a circular river.

Mr. Bennet stood and patted William on the shoulder. "Perhaps you shall not change in any important respect. If you can honourably marry my Lizzy, and if you wish her hand yet, I will welcome you as a son. Now off. Bother Lizzy with the news she will be very anxious to hear, and leave me to write the letter Mr. Roberts demanded."


	22. Chapter 22

"What was it? Good news? Did Papa hear back from Mr. Roberts?"

William laid a kiss on her forehead. That was the most intimate gesture he allowed himself, wishing to take care of her and her honour. They stood in the open area of the garden. The cook tended to her herbs thirty feet away. It was enough company that they met William's promise to not speak to her alone.

She missed kissing him. Elizabeth's lips tingled with anticipation every time she saw him.

"The missive from Mr. Roberts arrived. Mr. Bennet intends for me to travel to London to meet him tomorrow. Mr. Roberts claimed from the description of my case that restoration of memory is likely achievable." William pulled a sheet of paper from his coat and handed it to her.

Elizabeth grabbed the paper and read through the lines. "You will remember everything in another day, and then we'll be able to say banns and marry, and then you'll finally just kiss me — on the lips."

"Yes." Despite the good news his face was pale, and he spoke slowly.

"William…" She took his hand and held it between hers. She enjoyed the tenderness of their connection and the warmth she felt when she wrapped her fingers around his large broad hands.

He sighed. "Mr. Bennet said something which unsettled me."

"What did he say? Was it something about me?"

"About you?" William blinked in confusion.

"You suddenly will not look at me, or meet my eyes. And…"

"Oh." He did meet her eyes. But instead of the smile he always had for her he looked scared, sad. "Mr. Bennet thinks… he thinks I shall become a different person once I know my name and who I am. My personality and goals shall change… I perhaps shall not even wish to marry you."

"What!" Elizabeth sputtered. "That is why you are going on as though someone had died. Of course you shall wish to marry me."

"But what if—"

"Ridiculous. We are connected by our souls." Elizabeth saw he wanted reassurance from her. "You shall never be anyone but my William."

His deep blue eyes looked into hers. She looked back into them, her heart full of love. He swallowed convulsively. "I fear."

"Don't say that! We shall go to London tomorrow! Then we will return and we will marry."

William looked at her. She saw the scared look in his eyes. His eyes made her feel scared. He did not feel safety for the future. His doubt made her doubt.

"Lizzy." William brushed his fingers over her cheeks, a briefest, chaste touch. "Oh, my Lizzy. I love you so terribly — but if your father is right, and I become a different person when I remember? I would rather die than be a man who did not love you with everything in his soul."

Elizabeth forced herself to breathe, even though this time his touch sent spasms of anxiety into her chest instead of the normal feeling of comfort and happiness, warmth.

"I fear. Lizzy. I am so frightened. I do not want to go at all. I would rather run away with you, and never know at all. I would rather do that than risk losing you."

Elizabeth gripped his hands. "My father is never right. Do not worry."

She wanted to run away with him, without him seeing Mr. Roberts. But William would not be happy with such a course, and she did not want to be torn permanently from her father and house.

"A strange thought to come from you." Elizabeth kissed his cheek. "We will be completely happy one day soon. We will be! You will be the same man. Just with more knowings. You'll forget nothing — there is nothing to fear."

"Yes. Our bond. The tie between us. It can't be snapped easily." William obviously spoke to convince himself. "I have allowed myself to be driven by fears before, and I am listening to fear again. But anxiety is beneath me."

Elizabeth laughed. It was a thin weak laugh, but at least she laughed. "Papa gave you this idea because he knew you would obsess on it, and he is annoyed that I won't be his little girl forever."

William nodded solemnly. "Yes, that may be it."

Elizabeth understood how William's mind worked. It didn't matter to him why Papa had suggested such a notion. Its truth or falsity was independent of that.

She poked him, hard. "No more. You are going to be happy. We are connected by fate. You trust my feelings. Don't you think I would be feeling as though you should not visit Mr. Roberts if it was going to tear us apart?"

As Elizabeth said this, she felt a terrible spasm of anxiety herself. If she lost him somehow…it would be more terrible than dying. Not after all this time. No. She loved him so much. So desperately much. She couldn't survive it.

William kissed her on the forehead. "Do not worry. If you are not scared, I will not be."

That afternoon, Elizabeth became very scared, when she went to the study to ask Papa how he intended for them to travel to London the next day.

Mr. Bennet had been frowning at the dancing fire instead of reading a book. He slowly, with a surprising look of age, stood to greet her.

"What, you wish to travel to London?"

"To consult the doctor with William. Your friend Mr. Roberts."

"No."

"Now really, he is a doctor. You can hardly expect me to let William confront one of that species alone."

"No, Lizzy."

"What are you talking about?"

"No. I shall not permit you to go to London with William."

"But—"

"No. I have given you far too much space to do your will. But this time I shall put my fist down. No."

"I need to go with him. Else there shall be a…a… I must go."

"You do not need to go."

"Why not? Why do you wish to keep me here?"

"I would think it is obvious."

"It is not."

Papa sighed. He wiped at his forehead.

The sparks popped off the fire, spreading the crisp scent of burning ash wood. "If William recovers his memory, when he knows who he is, he might not wish to marry you. I was a bedeviled fool to let him stay here at all, and to make endless love to you, and I was an even greater fool to entrust you to your uncle, but I've at last woken to reason."

"What are you talking about? William promised to marry me."

"Yes, but the great aristocrat he truly is has not. I cannot bind such a man. Only he can bind himself. He must be free to choose his own path and return if he wishes when he knows."

"Aristocrat?"

"Are you a fool, Lizzy? Can you not recognize it?"

"Recognize what?"

"Everything about William speaks to power and capability. His education—"

Elizabeth felt the chill intensify. "He is well educated like you, or Bingley, but—"

"Hahahaha. No. Not like me nor Bingley. He knows everything. His mind is a sharply honed instrument. I have guessed who he is truly. The question of what his identity means has plagued my mind since I sent the letter off."

"Papa, who do you think — have you told William?"

"No need. He will know soon if it is true, and if false there is no reason for me to expose my guess. But that man — I shall make no claim against such a person."

"Papa, you must let me travel with William. Something will go terribly wrong if I do not."

Mr. Bennet raised his eyebrows. "That does not reflect much trust in William's constancy."

"I feel frightened. Not that he would be inconstant. He never could be. But I feel frightened."

"Good. You ought to be frightened. It may prepare you so that you shall feel less of pain if he wishes nothing to do with you once he recalls himself. No. Not to London with William. I am yet patriarch of this family. You yet owe obedience. You will obey in this matter."

"But…" She looked at Papa's face and crossed her arms defensively. "I must be with him."

"There is no way possible you will change my mind upon this subject. Leave."


	23. Chapter 23

"Mr. Bennet will not let you come with me?" Elizabeth's franticness made Darcy's stomach feel sour. The anxiety had almost receded. It returned.

Amiss.

Something would go amiss. Something — William forced his mind to blank. "Why…why will he not let you?"

"Papa! I hate him. He wants to destroy us! Take me with you. We can go to London together. You could fly us both, much faster than Papa could chase…"

"Lizzy!"

William looked to the side, Mrs. Bennet watched them. Had she heard Elizabeth?

Elizabeth grabbed his shoulders and forced William to face her. "If you love me, you shall take me with you to London."

"I cannot. Not if your father refuses permission." The anxiety built, even though William had no cause for it. "Not as an honourable gentleman. I cannot. He is your father."

Elizabeth ground her teeth. "I need to be there."

"Did you tell him? About our connection?"

Mrs. Bennet sat next to them and smiled. "Just what matter has you so worked up, Lizzy?"

"I want to go to London! London! William is going, and he can guard me! I want to go shopping, and Mrs. Gardiner said she would be happy to see me."

"With William?" Mrs. Bennet's instinctive suspicion of him had been aroused once Mr. Bennet told her to make sure Elizabeth was not allowed to interact with William without the presence of someone else. "No, goodness no."

"Come too! You haven't shopped in London for so long. You would like to see Mr. Gardiner and all of the town? London. Shops and streets and opera. Papa said no. He couldn't spare you. I suggested we all go, so that Papa could pay for everything when we shop. But he said no."

"Heavens, a very good idea!"

"Papa should take us all to London. We're so unfashionable here!"

"Lady Lucas would be jealous if I returned dressed at the height."

"William, wouldn't you like us for company? Kitty and Mary will never marry without better dresses."

William smiled in bemusement. This scheme was perfectly like his Lizzy. The nameless dread still anchored deep in his gut, and in Elizabeth's as well. Her effort would do no good. Mr. Bennet had changed towards him over the past week, and William was quite sure Mr. Bennet intended William to go to London alone.

Elizabeth pushed Mrs. Bennet to her feet and dragged her to the door. "Talk to Papa! He was nearly convinced. Imagine strolling through Hyde Park, admired by all the gallants taking their morning flight over the trees. Kitty and Mary wearing the very best dresses! Why they might even find someone to marry!"

"Yes, yes." Mrs. Bennet shook with determination. "A fetching idea."

The instant she was out the door Elizabeth turned to William and passionately exclaimed, "Take me with you. There will be disaster if you do not."

"Lizzy, I wish to… I cannot talk to you while we are alone. I swore to your father we would have no private conversations."

"Damn your oaths!"

William blinked in shock at Elizabeth.

"Swore to him?" Elizabeth spat. "If he wishes his wishes to be respected, he should wish reasonable wishes!"

"Why will he not let you attend Mr. Roberts with me?"

William stayed a decent distance from Elizabeth after that first quick embrace. He was afraid of Mr. Bennet rushing into the room to see them amorously entangled. Her father might enter at any moment. Mr. Bennet would see through Elizabeth's subterfuge in sending Mrs. Bennet off.

But the true reason was his oath. He had sworn not to take liberties with Elizabeth, and such an oath bound him.

"Mr. Bennet thinks he guessed who you are — he will not admit his guess for fear of being laughed at when wrong — so you need space to freely decide to abandon me after you remember." Elizabeth sneered. "As if you would."

William placed his hand over his mouth articulating his own, brute, inexplicable fear. "I would not do such a thing. You do not think I would?"

"Of course not!"

The knot in William's stomach eased, a little.

"The doctor will make a horrible mistake if I am not there. Or…you'll run into your enemy… Something shall go wrong! I feel it. You are constant, but something shall go wrong."

William would not be able to eat this eve. "If…if your father understood the tie which exists between us. And the real history of how I came to be here. He would tell us the truth about his fear. You begged me not to tell him anything of the matter, so I cannot. But—"

"He doesn't deserve it! I won't do that! Not again. I won't be bled again. I am in my right mind. You are here! That proves it! I was never delusional."

"Lizzy." William did not like to see Elizabeth like this. He took her hand. "You are overwrought."

"No! I shall not. I shall not tell Papa. William, take me with you. We can go together. I can disguise myself so Papa will not find us, and we can be together when you meet Mr. Roberts."

"Elizabeth." William disentangled his hand from hers.

"It is a perfect plan."

"Mr. Bennet would know to look at Mr. Roberts's office."

"We can reach Mr. Roberts first. And when Papa arrives we can leave and hide if Mr. Roberts has no solution to your memory." Elizabeth weepily looked into his eyes. "Please, please, do not go alone to London."

"I will not take you with me against your father's wishes."

"Why not?"

"I shall not disrespect your father so." William took a pained breath. He feared disaster too. He feared that this decision could destroy them all. Elizabeth's terror restored into his. "I shall not disrespect my own word, and above all I shall not disrespect you."

Mr. Bennet opened the door with a vicious frown. However seeing that Elizabeth and William were apart, and that Elizabeth angrily glared at William, his annoyance dropped away. He said, "Not a kind trick, Lizzy."

Elizabeth's eyes bulged out as she tried to kill her father with her gaze. For a moment William imagined that she would spit or scream at him. Instead Elizabeth turned, angrily glared at William one last time, and left the room.


	24. Chapter 24

William had been here before.

The familiarity grew as the stagecoach rumbled into London. He knew these uniform buildings, crammed together with their walls endlessly against each other. He knew these narrow streets lined with shop windows and lamps that lit each night with potentia. A boy from the village being sent off to his apprenticeship sat next to William and looked around wide eyed, shocked by the height of the buildings — many at least fifty feet tall — and the hordes of people moving every which way.

William smiled indulgently at the boy, amused to see a person have the great city thrust upon them for first time. This amusement scared William. He had been a man familiar with London. He knew which operas and playhouses had the best appointed boxes; he knew the view from those boxes; he knew how to have one reserved. He had no idea what the cost to get a standing position in the pits were.

Little hints about his past crowded his mind like flies hovering about rotting meat.

Before he had been a wealthy man with an expectation of being obeyed. It was something which had occurred unconsciously during their trip to the south, times he'd acted and simply expected the others to follow.

Elizabeth had been angry at him all evening, and then in the morning before he left, she fiercely embraced and kissed him in front of her father, refusing William's attempt to stop her. Mr. Bennet had worn a self-pitying expression as Elizabeth cried bitterly.

It was irrational. William firmly reminded himself of that at every small hill in the road. Elizabeth's fear still frightened him. She felt that without her presence, it would all end in disaster.

William began to feel sick when they reached twenty miles away from Longbourn. He was too far from Elizabeth. It was as though the connection could not sustain itself over such a distance.

Elizabeth laughed so often — he loved his Elizabeth so much it hurt in his chest. When he thought of her happiness and his terror that he would be parted from her, it was like an exquisitely pleasurable knife twisted round and round to drill through his heart and leave the blood to leak out with each beat.

The stagecoach rumbled to a stop. After they exited, William smiled one last time at the nervous boy, keeping a semblance of calm. "No cause to worry. You shall do your parents proud. A week's time you'll find the city boring and small."

The boy flushed, but stood proudly. "I am not nervous."

William laughed good naturedly. "Keep that attitude — but between us, there is no shame. London is entirely different from anything you have seen."

The boy nodded. He looked at William a little shyly. "I doubt the city shall ever seem boring. Or small."

"No, but it shall become familiar."

The two parted. The boy's new master had sent one of his older apprentices to retrieve him, and the two walked off with the older lad telling stories about the master in a matter of fact voice to the wide-eyed youngster.

Now his own fate.

William stared at the street, bordered by tall buildings, lined along its whole length with bare trees. The plaster of the buildings around him was crumbling, exposing the brick beneath. The tall buildings shadowed the whole road from the low winter sun. The street stank from the rotting droppings of humans and animals.

A metaphor.

The pretense that he did not care had worn thin, crumbling away like the plaster from the bricks, exposing the truth of the masonry. William wanted to remember. Part of him had always needed to remember. It was important to remember. His fear had been irrational.

Yet Elizabeth feared.

William hated the smell of London and he avoided the city whenever possible so that he would not need to smell it. London was run by corporations of commoner tradesmen. The king had many centuries ago guaranteed their rights in exchange for their taxes and support. No gentleman had ever ruled over this land.

Some old thought, repeated often, as a joke among the gentry, rose to William's mind: That was why the city stunk, it was how commoners smelled without the care of a decent dutiful lord.

He looked up at the sky. It would be possible to use the runic structures that had been charged to a high level by the presence of so many people in the city to create a wind flow that would suck the air consistently from the ground and move the smell high into the sky where it could disperse freely without bothering any of the birds. That would make the great city both more hygienic and pleasant.

William felt an odd certainty that when he imagined that engineering work, his mind was following a well-trod pathway, and that he'd argued for the project before. The city had the money to pay.

William felt the itch of not belonging. He had been let off near Blackfriars bridge, and while he was outside the wards of the square mile, he was close enough that they oppressed him. His sense of their interference with the ability to shape potentia was more sensitive than he remembered it.

The cobblestones were uneven here and worn. Thick muscled workmen hauled sacks of grain and buckets of water around the inn yard where he'd been deposited. A crush of wagons and carriages and hackney cabs rushed up and down the cobblestoned street. Loud clattering. At the intersection a wagon paused as its driver bellowed in a deep voice at the carriage that rushed in front of him.

During the delay one of wagon's two horses defecated on the street.

There were regulations!

William's jaw tightened. The law required everyone to use a manure bag on the streets of the city. That waggoneer ought to be fined five pounds for going about without a manure bag. Nobody else took any notice. The streets were an inch thick in filth, as they always had been. Probably they always would be.

He hated London.

William had decided to walk to Mr. Roberts's office, since he did not want to beg Mr. Bennet for money to hire a hackney cab. He could fly, and in the air above gentlemen hurtled past. William could fly that distance without the slightest strain.

But a flight over the city might reveal his presence to his enemy. He needed to discover his memories. They would tell him who his enemy was, and how he could win against him.

William looked distastefully at the street. Must he walk through that muck?

A short raven-haired woman in a green dress walked by and for a second William's heart leapt: Elizabeth!

He then shook his head and laughed. Of course it was not, and he needed to go quickly to the expert on memory, so that he would be free to return to her. He knew what Elizabeth would say if she saw him wrinkling his nose at the thought of walking over the streets like a commoner.

She'd laugh at him and tease him for a week for being so finicky.

The coach had left him near the edge of town, and he had three miles to walk to reach the office of Mr. Roberts, which was on the edge of the fashionable district. William knew his offices were in a palace, owned by the family he was a cousin of and which had sponsored him.

It was in the district of the city where the gentlemen lived with their retainers away from the stench of the commoners.

There was something familiar about that thought. The man who he had been would think insultingly of commoners. He'd been very conscious of his position as a gentleman.

William did not want to be that man.

He quickly passed one building after another, barely paying attention to the peeling paint and the crumbling plaster of their facades. William walked along the sidewalk with a long loping stride, staying as far as he could from the filthy street, so as not to be splashed with manure as the carriages rushed along, the mud being sprayed by their wheels.

He was perfectly familiar with the area around Mr. Roberts's offices as though he'd been there many times before. He recalled again the address. Every house around was familiar to him. But somehow the mansion that Mr. Roberts himself worked in had absented itself from William's mind. He remembered nothing of it. Not even the name of the family, even though Elizabeth insisted they were one of the most famed names in the land.

Why did he remember nothing about them?

A chill that he understood fluttered in William's stomach.

The streets became better maintained as he entered the district distant enough from the square mile for gentlemen to comfortably establish their lodgings. Here the cobblestones were refitted and replaced when they fell out of their places or broke under the weight of the carriages. Street sweepers cleaned up the droppings. The facades of the buildings first became stone and cleanly painted and maintained plaster and timber. Then they became marble and fancy brickwork. He knew he was close.

It had gone too fast, the walk. He'd walked quickly because he was distracted by his unfounded worries, but now he wished he still had miles to walk. Maybe he should have walked the entire distance to London.

The building took up an entire city block. It was a large five story U shaped structure with a park in the middle. The garden could be freely entered from the street, but there was a gate separating the main entrance of the building from the garden. The gate was wide open to allow people to enter and leave upon business, but two guards in a handsome livery stood on each side of it.

The coat of arms above the gates had the image of a lion defeating a dragon. The noble animal forcing submission upon a greater, yet less noble creature. A tale of David and Goliath. A tale of standing against the tyrant, and yet defeating him through the awful struggle and fierce dedication to principle. A tale of clever tactics, and willingness to retreat if needed, achieving eventual victory over the dragon who needed to be slain.

It was deeply strange. William knew the significance of this symbol. Yet, the coat of arms brought no recognition. He ought to know something about this building and its owners, with its prominence in central London. But there was no knowledge of them.

He remembered the famous story Elizabeth had told him when he'd asked about them. How the head of their family had disappeared. But the house kept the dormant connection to its master, so they knew he still lived.

A belief came to William. Despite the arrogance in this thought, the idea felt completely right. Obvious now that he saw the clues. This was the suspicion that had soured Mr. Bennet's mood.

William studied the tall brick building and the handsome marble columns as an owner might. A palace. A place as far above Longbourn as Longbourn was above the dwelling of a cottager.

He walked through the gate. His stomach might twist and ache, and he might feel a terror, but he would not let that even slow him. He had right and duty to be here. He noticed from the edge of his vision as he passed them by without looking the shocked looks from the pair of guards at the gate.

William entered the palace, and despite having no memory of ever having been there, he did not even need to look at the directory. A pretty young woman and two middle aged men, one of whom was a gentleman, sat behind a desk, all wearing the livery and coat of arms of the house.

The woman smiled at him and made a friendly greeting. "Welcome, what business do you have with the House of Darcy?"

The eyes of the two men seated with her widened, and the jaw of one dropped.

William knew where Mr. Roberts's office would be, the same way he knew where the opera was, and where the king's palace was.

Without replying to the girl beyond a nod of his head to her, William set off down the correct corridor, his boots softly clapping on the marble floors. The floor had been made with stones quarried locally, and the savings they had made by not using fashionable imports from Italy had been given as a gift to the people of the clan.

Such was the way they ruled.

The hall was painted with fine frescoes, and a crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. The doors along the hall were all made in handsome oak. William reached the back stairs. He ignored the surprised looks and gasps that trailed behind him.

William knew why they were shocked.

Logic told him. He looked precisely like the missing prince of the house would if he had a few additional years of age.

He reached the door with Mr. Roberts's name on it. William almost knocked, the way he would have before entering a room in Longbourn.

He was expected. It was not right to make any pretense of subservience in this building. It was his right to enter which rooms he wished when he wished.

William felt good and warm in this building. It was like being near Elizabeth. The magic of this London house was connected to that of the great estate in the North. And that was connected by some means to his soul. Not so intimate as his connection with Elizabeth, the estate was not his other self, it was a duty. Power flowed into him.

He tried the handle of Mr. Roberts's door, and even though it had been locked, it clicked open freely at his will.

Mr. Roberts was seated in a handsome brown leather rolling chair. The bald man had his finger running along a page in a large book that sat upon a walnut reading stand. The book sparked with magic. Mr. Roberts looked up, and his mouth fell open like that of others in the building.

"My God! My God! It is you — Master Fitzwilliam, I mean, Mr. Darcy. It is you!"


	25. Chapter 25

Mr. Roberts stared in frustration at the parchment, and he began to tap his quill against it. The entire London house now knew about Mr. Darcy's presence. Other families and the monarch must be learning. It would be at most a day before the information traveled to Pemberley.

Time was of the essence. His master must be in a state where he had access to all his knowledge and power. He needed to be prepared to fight whoever attacked him on that strange day those years ago when he disappeared.

Mr. Darcy sat across the desk. He did not fidget, of course, but somehow his unchanging posture conveyed a growing impatience as he waited for Mr. Roberts's judgement about whether his memory could be restored. It had been three hours, though two and a half had been dedicated to a thorough examination of the flows of potentia in Mr. Darcy's brain.

Mr. Roberts had spent the last half hour writing notes and trying to understand this strange twist of potentia that flowed between Mr. Darcy and something else.

A subtle thing, any physician who had shown less thoroughness and care in their examination, or a different physician with less of an understanding of the nuances of the interaction between the mind and the circulation of potentia, could never have seen it.

This flow was deeply tied to Mr. Darcy's most recent memories, and that tie would cause them to resist the resurgence of his old memories.

He needed to snap this string tied around Mr. Darcy's being.

Mr. Roberts did not like snapping it without understanding the strange phenomenon. But there was no time for study.

The question was if it would harm Mr. Darcy to sever this link. His memories should simply return when it was gone. Mr. Roberts frowned at the paper. In his body of knowledge, he could think of no reason why Mr. Darcy would receive harm.

Neither could he understand why such a tie existed.

Mr. Roberts absently rubbed his finger over the family ring that proclaimed his connection to the Darcy house. The ring sent a comforting stream of potentia that flowed up his arm now that he was in the same room with Mr. Darcy. The Darcy clan looked from the outside much as it always had, but within they knew a rot had set in.

Mr. Wickham ignored the core principles which made the Darcy family so great.

Until Georgiana came of age, there was no one of the blood to rule them. Everyone eagerly awaited her majority. But she was too close to Mr. Wickham, and too dependent upon him. This was a matter of gossip that could only be quietly talked about, but many of the Darcy retainers deeply worried for the future of their grand house.

Some entity outside of him. This connection seems to do no harm to him, except it is deeply tied up with the working suppressing his memories. The physician wrote in shorthand, and then glanced back up at Mr. Darcy.

Mr. Darcy casually studied the decor of the room.

Mr. Roberts remembered the day a month before Mr. Darcy disappeared when the young man made a review of the London holdings of the Darcy family. He'd sat in that same leather-bound chair and spoken to him about his work for a full twenty minutes before moving on. A great gentleman. So little about the room had changed.

Mr. Roberts was a conservative man who did not need to change the furnishings and decorations of his office every year or two like some of his colleagues. He had the same heavy walnut bookshelves, but the collection of books had many new titles.

Science advanced year by year, and a practitioner of the first order must always study the latest advances.

The change was in Mr. Darcy: His face and mannerisms were so similar. Mr. Roberts remembered how on that proud day Mr. Darcy scratched at his chin in the same manner. He made the same gestures with his hands to emphasize his words. His body was better built; he radiated more power and more strength; he had matured into a man with greater confidence and certainty.

Mr. Darcy had become the great master and gentleman they had all expected of him. Mr. Roberts sensed it.

It was time to explain matters to the patient and act. They had not leisure to wait for perfect knowledge. "Mr. Darcy, I can completely restore your memories."

"That simple? You surprise me. My reading found no information about gentlemen losing their memories."

"It is rare. I have met one gentleman who lost a week of time, and there are several stories in the literature about similar cases — though none like your case."

"Then how are you so certain you can restore my memories?"

"They are all still there, protected, but suppressed — my examination allowed me to probe the memories. They are your memories, so I could not experience them, but their presence, and the block keeping them from being accessed by your consciousness, was easily found by a man with my skills."

"If a working had been placed upon me to suppress my memories, it cannot be easy to remove such an attack."

"There is no attack." This was the first lie. That strange flow of potentia coming from outside of Mr. Darcy might be an attack. "You suppressed your own memories."

"Did I?" Mr. Darcy raised his eyebrows, and his expression clearly conveyed skepticism along with a willingness to listen.

"You experienced a period of time which was…unpleasant?"

"Deeply so. But I remember that, what I remember not was the time before. If I am suppressing unpleasant memories, would I not suppress those memories?"

"No, you protected your own sanity — I suspect you had very little stimuli, and no access to your own potentia, or ability to act."

"That was my reality." Mr. Darcy leaned forward with a thoughtful frown. "Constant pain — I speak in confidence, but my enemy knows what he did to me, and he must know that I know — I was bled of all my potentia to feed a demon. My eyes were behind a mask, I was nourished through a working that infused the necessary foodstuff. Never any change but the feel of my own breathing."

"To hear you speak of your suffering so easily. I salute you — imagine if your mind had access to all its vivid memories. You would not be able to stop thinking upon them in that state. Your mind would roll round and round in them. The past would become more real to you than the unchanging present. You would lose yourself irrecoverably in a dreamlike state. Such has happened to men imprisoned in solitude and suppression wards."

"You believe I intentionally suppressed these memories?"

"The mind protects itself. There was no intention. But to protect your sanity — that is what occurred. In every case a gentleman lost memories, the loss protected him from knowledge he did not wish to have."

"I have been at liberty for months now. If the memories had been lost to protect me from insanity in that dungeon — something different protected me from such loss of personhood — should my memories not have returned on their own? The threat is past."

"Have you really sought to know? Have you desperately tried to recall your past?"

"I now must know."

"And you wait, almost patiently, for me to inform you what method will let you recover them. Your actions do not suggest a desperate effort to recall the unrecallable."

"I often felt certain about parts of my past, without knowing how I did." Mr. Darcy looked out the window at the garden courtyard beneath them with a tall statue of a grand ancestor seated upon a horse in the middle of a fountain.

"You did?" Professional curiosity prompted Mr. Roberts to quickly ask, "Such as what? Things which it was important to know?"

"Confidence I was not a criminal running unknowingly from the crown. I knew I had not married."

"Your identity remained, though the episodes were gone. Do you see what I say?"

"I felt anxiety about knowing. I did not want to. Not until knowing became necessary. You are certain of this explanation?"

"Entirely. Your mind suppressed the memories to protect itself. That is the rational and scientific explanation. A simple working to dispel the tangles which keep you from accessing those memories will bring them back. For such a working, I will need your complete cooperation — if you resist my potentia, I would be able to do nothing. I require your trust."

"I know your reputation from Mr. Bennet. It would be exceedingly unlikely for you to wish me harm. I can feel that this house, the Darcy house. This house is not what it should be. You sense that as well. You wish me to be returned to my power so I can restore our house to the glory it ought to have."

"It is not my place to criticize the steward… but I desperately wish to be led once more by our proper master. You are my proper master, Mr. Darcy."

"I will not simply take this as a matter of trust. Explain in greater detail precisely what you intend to do. Further, how can I keep from resisting? My natural reaction shall be to resist any attempt to interfere with the potentia within my brain—"

Mr. Roberts laughed at the dry way Mr. Darcy said that.

Mr. Darcy paused and smiled in a manner that showed friendship and mutual amusement while still marking himself as above Mr. Roberts. "If I know precisely what shall happen, it will be easier."

Mr. Roberts pulled a small book from his desk, and flipped it open to a bookmarked page. He pushed the open book across the desk to Mr. Darcy. "There is no need for an exotic or experimental working. This will accomplish everything."

Mr. Darcy studied the pages.

While he did Mr. Roberts returned to the problem of Mr. Darcy's apparent connection to something outside himself. He didn't want Mr. Darcy to know that the untangling working would completely stop the flow of potentia through it. There could be an inbuilt trigger placed by an enemy.

"It is difficult." Mr. Darcy flipped a page. "I understand the spell, but I do not understand the mind. I do not like when I must trust another — I deliver no insult to you, this is an expression of my desire to control and understand anything important."

"You are a man usually in control of your destiny."

"I was not for a long time."

Mr. Darcy stared closely at the paper. But his eyes didn't move, showing that he was thinking, not reading. Without lifting his head, he said offhandedly, "Mr. Bennet thought I would be changed greatly by the recovery of the memories."

It was often the offhanded comment which reached to the core of the patient's concern.

"Changed greatly? What do you mean?"

Mr. Darcy met Mr. Roberts's eyes with his piercing gaze. Mr. Roberts looked away. "My character and nature. Time's passage — six years, that prison, what followed… I no longer am the same man."

"Nonsense. You hold yourself as Fitzwilliam Darcy. That commanding tone, the confidence in your posture. The way you have spoken to me, and the luminous fire of your mind. The way you cock your head — your father held himself the same way you do. You are unchanged in fundamentals."

Mr. Darcy placed the book down and closed it over the bookmark. "How I shall feel afterwards? I fear losing… My memories shall be vivid upon their return. I have concerns and obligations that Fitzwilliam Darcy six years before had no notion of. Might I be changed into the person I was before? Mr. Bennet thought… something terribly important might matter no more to me."

Mr. Roberts scratched the bald spot on his head. "There is no precedent. You are a new case. I cannot predict the details of what shall happen, but you shall remain in essentials the same person."

Mr. Darcy locked eyes with him. Mr. Roberts knew Mr. Darcy searched for proof in his eyes that he could trust Mr. Roberts's implied promise he would not change.

Mr. Darcy could not.

After Mr. Roberts severed the strange connection, Mr. Darcy might lose all access to his newer memories. But what mattered was restoring Fitzwilliam Darcy so that he could command Pemberley and the Darcy clan. It must be done quickly. The enemy who had betrayed Mr. Darcy was likely part of the household, and he would strike again at Mr. Darcy once it was known he had returned.

Mr. Roberts looked amiably back at Mr. Darcy. For a moment he was frightened that Mr. Darcy would refuse to allow his memories to be restored. There was some internal conflict in his eyes.

"You need not worry." Mr. Roberts spread his hands open comfortingly. "What matters to you shall not change. Mere knowledge cannot change who you are as a person, it will only make you more, not different."

Silently, Mr. Roberts begged Mr. Darcy to let him restore him. He needed his master to recover.

Patients could not judge what was best for them. Often the greatest gentlemen were the worst patients, because they did not understand that their genius for command and vast powers were no help when they were ill. Mr. Darcy's behavior and manner of holding himself showed that he was the greatest of gentlemen, despite the loss of his memory.

Mr. Roberts was proud to be this great man's cousin, and prouder to be in the service of him.

But Mr. Darcy was no doctor. He was not qualified to decide his course of treatment for himself. He did not know enough to judge the risks and the rewards.

Darcy looked into Mr. Roberts's eyes; his was a demanding and powerful gaze. Mr. Roberts had once been consulted by the king, in hopes of curing his recurrent madness. Despite his greatness, even his Majesty had not seemed so potent as Fitzwilliam Darcy.

"Reason demands my memories should be restored quickly. My enemies shall soon learn I have returned. I must know all so that I can prepare for them. Any other course of action would be unwise."

Mr. Roberts did not show it, but he felt a deep relief. He'd never felt this great nervousness since he'd been a young lad managing his first patients as an independent doctor. "I must rehearse the casting and every action I shall take, but I will be prepared within an hour."

"I understand. Do you need privacy in your office?"

"You may freely stay."

Mr. Darcy picked a book from Mr. Roberts's shelf, on the subject of the connections between the tissue of the brain and potentia.

One last time, Mr. Roberts reviewed the tools he wanted to use, and his readiness to cast those spells. He wrote out the details of the working he would enact, and he rehearsed it within his head five times, until each step was smooth, and could be done freely without reference to his notes. When he finished, Mr. Darcy had put the book aside and was frowning at the window and the new winter storm which lashed the south of England.

"Prepared, Mr. Darcy?"

A long pause. Mr. Darcy sat very still. He pulled in a long deep breath and slowly exhaled.

Mr. Darcy nodded, "Yes. Let us act."


	26. Chapter 26

By now William must have reached Mr. Roberts's practice in the Darcy's London house some hours ago. Elizabeth knew through their bond that he was agitated, and that he had learned something of great importance.

What had he learned? When would he come back?

Patience.

Elizabeth once had enormous patience. Now, she needed to know everything was all right.

This morning they'd held hands, and he'd kissed her cheek, because Papa wouldn't let them kiss right until they were officially engaged. And she'd kissed him tight upon the lips, in front of Papa, and she refused to let him go until her lips had told him how much she needed him.

Disaster. She knew deep in her heart he should never have gone away to London without her.

Elizabeth paid attention to that point inside of her which only existed as a concept, but which let her touch that same point inside of him. Other women claimed to be connected to their lover, but she truly was.

Elizabeth liked being connected to William. She liked it very, very much.

She could barely wait for the amorous encounters they would enjoy after they married. His lips against hers. Their bare skin — touching his muscles. Seeing him naked. His body pushing and rubbing and pressing against hers. Them lost in the experience of togetherness, being one, being lovingly united.

His kisses made her feel ever closer to him. She just needed to think about him and she would smile, and smile, and smile. In her heart they already were man and wife.

Anxiety twisted and coiled, poisoning her being.

Elizabeth had gone to wait for news of him alone in the hilltop garden they'd grown together with the magical flow he'd brought to the surface. She placed her hand over the thick young oak tree in the middle. The flow of magic from the ley line kept it awake and green despite the cold, thin sun. She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the bark, pressing her skin deeper and deeper into the rough edges.

The air was cold.

Elizabeth put her attention on their connection again, and on the feeling she had in her heart for him. Her love was like a living, breathing thing, sometimes a happy kitten, sometimes a fierce lion. Elizabeth often squirmed because of how happy she was to have him.

William had been silly to think their connection could be understood.

The truth was simple: His soul and hers belonged together. Their magics were connected because of this reality.

Elizabeth and William. There could be tens of thousands of variants of their tale, and they would end together in them all.

Now the winter day had almost set, and no one had come to find her. They would have if a message had come from William. She walked back to Longbourn, and Elizabeth felt a strange foreboding. As if she were falling from a great height, and the air whistling past her ears tried to tell her she must cast a levitation before she hit the ground. But her eyes were closed, and the sensation confused her, so she did not know what to do.

If Mr. Roberts could provide no help, William should already be halfway back. Or even returned if he'd learned Mr. Roberts uselessness early enough. But if it took some hours for Mr. Roberts to examine William. Or if he'd made William wait a long period before seeing him…

Through the bond she knew he was in the direction of London still. He had not become more distant. Or begun to come closer.

William should not be so distant. They had not been apart since she'd rescued him in the summer.

The time for dinner came. Elizabeth entered the dining room and sat down, "Papa, any message from William? Anything? Anything at all?"

"No." Mr. Bennet had a hard expression. "You expect word so soon? If he knows… I dare say he is too busy for us to be on his mind anymore."

"I am scared. I felt a strange sensation — not as though he is in danger, but…as though something is about to go wrong. I should do something. I should. But I cannot tell what. London is too far away. I do not like this. You should have let me go with William."

"A nervous hen like your mother. You feel things are going wrong?" Papa sneered. "None of that nonsense. You are too clever for it."

Elizabeth stared at the soup which had been ladled for her first course. She stirred it about, again and again. A white soup with a fine thick cream and bits of fish carefully cooked into it.

She loved this soup, but right now the fatty liquid turned her stomach.

Papa watched her with that sarcastic smile. He thought her lovelorn ways were funny, yet he was unhappy about her intense affection for William. He so hoped they would be separated, so she would stay with him longer as only his daughter. That was why he would not let her go to London, and not what he'd said about whatever guess he refused to disclose, and enigmatically referred to.

Something wrong. Something wrong was about to happen. If she could wish herself into London in an instant she would go. She tried to will a message through the connection she had with William: Be cautious. Something is wrong.

He could not hear her, though he felt unsettled too.

With great difficulty, magic could send messages at enormous speed across great distances of space. "Papa, we could send a message to William — immediately. You know where he should be, if you use Longbourn's potentia to boost the message, it could reach him in London and—"

"No. Lizzy, you know how much resources, in money and power, such a message consumes. Do not be ridiculous. Your suggestion is ridiculous. What message would I give him? Lizzy feels nervous."

"Yes! Tell him that."

Elizabeth felt a desperation. The seconds tripped by and in a minute it would be too late. That precognition that had helped her before needed her to do something now.

"I will do no such nonsense. You should be ashamed of yourself for making such a scene." Papa glared at her.

Mama and her sisters stared as well.

Elizabeth knew she sounded ridiculous, but she had to try. "We are bound together. I can feel when something bad will happen to him. Please, now. Just send a message telling him to wait. Let me go speak to him. Let me—"

"One more word and I shall send you to your room without dinner. You are an adult gentlewoman. Act as if you are."

Crazy ideas went through her mind as she felt that desperation build. But she couldn't scream. This was like when she was young and Papa had her bled and believed she was hallucinating. He hadn't believed her because her story of a man she was attached to and who desperately needed their help was irrational.

"Papa, please — you must. It is like when you didn't believe me then."

"What are you talking about?"

"Just send the message! Not a minute more. You must now."

"Elizabeth Bennet. I do not appreciate that you are acting in such an undignified manner."

Lydia and Kitty whispered together wildly, while Mary looked at her with that disapproving frown.

Then the feeling of desperation disappeared. Elizabeth closed her eyes and sat down. She felt dark resignation. As though the terrible thing would happen and she could no longer prevent it. She should have done something, but she couldn't use the magic of the house. Only Papa could do that. There had been nothing she could have done but try to convince him.

Elizabeth ate unfeelingly. The taste of the duck and cream, a favorite, was flat and revolting. At least it was thin enough that she would not choke on the meal in her distraction.

She felt a spasm through her soul. A tearing, a burning, a wrongness. It ached, as though her insides were ripped apart.

Elizabeth fainted.

When Elizabeth came to herself, her mother had put the smelling salts under her nose, and her father looked at her with a worried frown.

Elizabeth's heart pattered fast. It was gone! The connection was gone. No. It could not disappear, ever.

Dead? Was he dead?

Elizabeth fainted again, and this time she did not wake for a long time.


	27. Chapter 27

Something was absent. He couldn't feel her. Where had she gone?

Then he woke.

Fitzwilliam Darcy felt profoundly strange as he struggled into consciousness. His body was not the same. He knew from the feel of his connection to the house that he was far from Pemberley. That made no sense, why would he leave Pemberley in the middle of December when there was work to do?

His muscles were not the same. He had this residue of some memory, fuzzy and inaccessible, as though in a dream. There had been a girl — not a beauty but a perfection — he had been trapped, unable to feel. Terror in the dark, and he could not let himself think of that.

Darcy opened his eyes. The rich dark color of the exotic wood of the roof was illuminated by the dancing light from a candle set on the nightstand. Smooth, richly threaded satin sheets. The roof was familiar. He had slept here before.

Not Pemberley; London. His father's — no, now his — room in London.

He was under no restraint. The flow of magic through his body was stronger than it should be, yet he somehow could manage it. Another gentleman was in the room.

Darcy looked to the side. One of his retainers sat beside the bed. Mr. Roberts. A physician who was a second cousin. He specialized in maladies of the mind. Mr. Roberts must be suffering from an illness. He looked older than when he'd visited Pemberley only a month before to renew his oaths and the connection he held with the family.

London. He was in London.

The carriages clattered around the streets, and crowds walked endlessly. Despite the spells which filtered the air of his bedroom, a faint residue of the stink that hovered about the city reached his nostrils. As always when he visited the capital, Darcy thought of his idea of a scheme to set up a permanent wind current over the capital which would carry the stench high into the atmosphere where it could disperse without bothering anyone.

Darcy felt good. His magic felt strong; his body felt strong. And he had used the word "magic".

How vulgar.

This was the most exceedingly curious incident in his life. How had he traveled from Pemberley to London, lost a substantial period of time and increased his ability to channel the power that now flooded him so greatly?

With a cautious touch Darcy reached out with his will to grasp the magic of the building he sat in. The potentia. It was the London mansion of the Darcy clan, but he nearly jumped in fright when he felt the building. Everything had changed.

What had happened?

The house responded with friendly glee at the master touching it once more, like a puppy who had waited for a terrible time for his master to return, and now wanted to squeal and dance in happiness.

"Roberts—" Darcy stopped, shocked. There was some subtle difference in his intonation. He didn't sound right.

Anxiety came from somewhere, and he harshly pushed it away. He was the Darcy of Pemberley, and anxiety was beneath him.

A great gentleman should always be prepared for extreme oddities to affect his life. It was the nature of having so much of the fey power running through his veins.

"You are awake! — do you know who you are?"

"Who I am? What sort of nonsense question is that. I am Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley — and you are one of my people. Mr. Roberts, explain clearly how I ended up here."

Mr. Roberts smiled and clapped. "You remember! It did work. The undoing took so long — and you slept such a long time after the working — I feared that I had made some terrible mistake — what is the last thing which you remember."

"What happened to me? I ask the questions."

"Yes, yes, yes." The physician nodded quickly, a truly happy smile on his face. "It is so very good for you to be returned to us. Things have not been the same."

"Returned? What happened — what day is it?"

"It is November 8, 1812—"

"No, it is December of 1806."

"Mr. Darcy, you disappeared."

"What?"

"Feel with your magic, the clock stone in St. James — it will read the current date."

Darcy reached out to touch the old Scottish calendar stone that had been brought to London by the first Stuart monarch. The magic of the stone claimed it was 1812. He had somehow known before he acted, that Mr. Roberts had told the truth of the date.

A terror tried to strike, like a viper unleashing itself.

Darcy would not fear.

Not even at the loss of six years of life. He was Fitzwilliam Darcy. Fitzwilliam Darcy feared nothing. "What happened — How?"

"You disappeared one day after you went out for a ride, and when you returned today, under your own power, you had no memories of before you had disappeared. You did not know who you were. Do you remember what happened, who did this to you? You were in a prison for a long time, and then escaped, and that is all you knew."

"All I knew? Six years! A man cannot lose six years in an instant's leaping." His magic felt older.

Why did his mind insist on using the word "magic". Why did he feel scared if he tried to force himself to use the educated word? Potentia.

"So you remember nothing?"

"Like a dream. A dark dream. Darkness. There was dark. Nothing except dark. An endless drain upon my body. It — it hardly seems real. And then there was…" Darcy blushed. A woman's face and body floated before him. Her features were tolerable — but certainly not handsome enough to tempt a man so great as he was. Yet, in his dream he'd felt as though she were the loveliest creature in existence.

Mr. Roberts nodded. "Of course. Of course. Your memories of the period may return in some form. Especially through your dreams."

"Through my dreams." There was a flat sound in Darcy's voice. "That hardly seems a reliable method if there was some information of import. Did I leave myself a letter outlining all matters of importance?"

"I had no notion that your memories might become locked away in this manner."

Roberts replied in an off manner. The connection to Roberts through the clan ring upon Mr. Roberts's finger told Darcy that the man was nervous, not telling the entire truth.

Mr. Roberts looked back at Darcy's cold stare with an expression that became confident and self-righteous.

Damned doctors.

They always assumed they knew better than every other person in the world.

"It may be important for me to know. If nothing else any knowledge of how I escaped that dark place is now gone. You seem remarkably unsurprised by my loss of memory given that you claim you had no notion it could have happened. This strikes of incompetence such as I have never heard connected to you."

Mr. Roberts went pale. He opened his mouth to speak.

Darcy held up his hand. "Why did you lie to me before my memories were restored? If I believe you acted in the interest of the family, you shall receive no punishment. However, I will not reward you for lying to me no matter how justified I believe you were."

"You were — you were deeply concerned about some matter. Perhaps I acted rashly, but I was concerned. Mr. Bennet referred in his letter to you having been found and taken in by one of his daughters. I think…you acted, sir, like a man in love."

A man in love. "Well, damnation. If I made some commitment to a girl, I ought to have known to tell myself about it. That does not excuse you at all."

"I feared— You asked questions about whether the memories would change your personality. You thought it was terribly important to think and care about a matter in exactly the same way that you had before."

"And I was worried that once I remembered what it was to be the Darcy, I worried that I no longer would care for this girl? So you thought that if I was told I would lose all memory of this lady — which I have mostly. Though I assume the tolerable face I recall from my dream must be the girl — I would refuse to go through the restoration of my memories."

"Haste was necessary."

"This Mr. Bennet — might I assume that he is a man such that it would be completely inappropriate and beneath me to marry his daughter?"

"He is not entirely unrespectable, but, sir, his brother-in-law is not even a gentleman, but a wealthy tradesman."

Darcy flinched with disgust at the thought of being connected to such a family. He, Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, head of the third greatest family in the nation.

"You ought to have told me. I would not have refused the restoration of my memories, though I may have acted rashly to tie myself to her in other ways. I would never flinch away from my duty for a matter of personal desire."

"I worried you would delay, and time runs short—"

"You worried. Not your place. I shall not punish you, but I shall praise you neither. You made decisions of policy because you felt as a doctor it was a matter of determining upon the best course of treatment for a patient. I know your type. If you ever lie to me again, I shall punish you. Understand that."

Mr. Roberts turned pale and nodded at a rapid pace.

"Are you certain there is no way to recover my memory of my escape? I recall who attacked me — but I must know how he succeeded against me. He had not the ability. Perhaps I knew."

"You told me you did not know who your enemy was."

"Hmmm. Unless I lied to you — if I had, I gained my just deserts for playing such a game with one of your ilk — no knowledge. Alas."

"Perhaps Mr. Bennet, or the Miss Bennet you traveled with, know something. She can at least say where and in what condition—"

"You have an acquaintance with the family. Go, question them. Discover everything which they know. Make clear — an appropriate reward for their aid shall be delivered, but the discovery of my true name must end any intimate hopes."

"Yes, sir."

Some part of Darcy felt horrible — he felt memory of that dream still pulling at him. Except it wasn't a dream, it was a forgotten reality. Some anxiety bounced inside of him. An emotion that felt as though it did not come from inside of him, but from another person.

Despite his strength and good health, something felt deeply wrong. He was missing something.

That made no sense.

Mr. Roberts looked like he'd been forced to bite a sour lemon.

"You do not wish to break the heart of some girl?" Darcy smiled sarcastically. "You have made a conjecture. I know nothing of any relationship with this Miss Bennet — neither do you. If I knew, I would have no choice but to break off matters with her in person. Now, I am free to rush to Pemberley and handle the important business awaiting me there."

Mr. Roberts nodded. His manner of holding himself and smoothing out his waistcoat was unsettled but he still had that damned medical self-certainty.

Darcy hated doctors. Ever since they had failed to do anything for his father, while being sure they knew what ailed him, he had hated them.

What desperation had driven that amnesiac version of him to trust a man like Mr. Roberts? And was there other damage that Mr. Roberts had done? Why did he feel this ache? This sense of wrongness in the depths of his soul.

Or was it fear? He could not allow fear. Fear, at least fear for himself, was beneath the station of the Darcy of Pemberley.

Six years in an instant.

Darcy stood. His head swum. He remembered both the memory of what his body should be and he experienced the fact of what it was. He nearly fell over flat on his face before the instincts for using this new body took over once more and helped him to walk. The sensation was still deeply strange.

Magic wondrous and terrible.

It was bottomlessly strange that he had the new instincts he had gained, such as this bizarre desire to refer to workings of potentia as magic. Yet he remembered nothing of what happened.

Mr. Roberts leaped to his feet. "Do you need any help, sir?"

Darcy confidently strode to the door and opened it, while Mr. Roberts trailed behind.

A crowd, many gentlemen and many commoners waited. The corridor was filled with chairs and people sitting and standing. Down the hallway people packed along the walls, talking and sitting. The old man in front, nearest the door — William remembered him well. He'd served the Darcy house well. But the old man of business who headed the London holdings was so old.

"Welcome home!" he cried out. "I always knew…" Tears choked him off. "Still alive!"

Darcy placed his hand on the man's shoulder. "You have done well—" He turned and said in a projecting voice to the crowd, "You all have done well. All of you. We are the Darcys and I… forgive me for having failed you these past years. For not being present to act for you, to live for you. But I am returned. I shall do what is needed to protect and lead us. Your interests, not mine, your interests will come first. What has been set awry will be set anew, and you will all be remembered. You are my people, and I am yours."

Darcy found tears came to his own eyes. Instead of suppressing them, he allowed himself to cry. He allowed his people to watch him cry. He felt the connection again. The connection to everyone.


	28. Chapter 28

Darcy was trapped in the dark. She was coming. He knew she was coming. But the presence that had always been with him was gone. He couldn't feel her. Couldn't feel… Where was she?

Where was she?

Darcy woke with a shock. His heart raced from the nightmare. He blinked and looked around the room. London?

Then he remembered.

He smiled thinly. When he'd woken the previous day, he'd thought the exact same thoughts.

The large room was a bedroom he'd only slept in once. The curtains were slightly faded and old. His father's portrait of his mother still stood above the fireplace, like it had since her death.

This room did not belong to him. It ought to be his father's. Father had just died. It was too soon to change the room.

No. Six years since Father died.

He threw the heavy covers aside and leaped out of bed. He felt that same emptiness, a pain in what should make him happy and an ache in his magical pathways — why should the word magic make him smile?

Darcy clapped his hands twice and a valet came out of the servant's entrance, now able to enter. Darcy had sealed his room against any entrant, and only with the clapping did he release the spell. He'd also used the ward system of the house to ensure no one hid in wait for him.

Paranoia was necessary.

The valet was a commoner, but an old member of the Darcy household, who served the cousin who managed the London office. He entered the room with tears in his eyes. "A miracle. A glorious day. Sir! Sir! You were never forgotten. I remembered you and your sister, in my prayers every day. Every day I prayed, and I never gave up hope, I never stopped praying you would be returned to us!"

Darcy took the servant's wrinkled hands. "That men like you serve has always been the bulwark of the house."

"It's not been the same. Not at all. I do not speak against Mr. Wickham, but the regent isn't of the blood. He does not act the part of a True Darcy. Not enough generosity. Not enough canniness. You will have the house restored to its proper rights with no time."

The old man helped Darcy don the fine shirts and stockings that he'd borrowed, like the valet, from members of his clan here in London. The clothes were made of a fine silk fabric and fit right — the Darcy house had commanded the necessary tailors to modify the garments of the tallest gentleman who was part of his clan in London. Yesterday's clothes had fit poorly and been of a mediocre fabric. The type a gentleman of limited means might purchase.

Darcy missed the garments tailored perfectly to fit him he would normally wear. Clothes that enhanced his appearance and the flow of magic through his being. None of his clothes had been stored in London. He'd been told they all were still stored in his chests at Pemberley. Nothing thrown out and all had been perfectly preserved.

It didn't matter. Darcy's muscles bulged as he stretched and tested the flow of the fabric. This shirt fit, but his old shirts would not because his body was more muscled than it had been.

Strange to wake up stronger after losing six years.

After wrapping him into the fitted coat, the valet stepped back and rubbed at his bald head for a moment. He nodded in critical satisfaction. "You look very well, sir. Very well indeed. You can act the part."

"The part?"

The old man blushed. "The missing prince returned. What stories they shall tell of you!"

Darcy studied himself in the mirror. Something was missing behind his eyes; something which left him still a missing prince. Devotion to duty and the adoration of his retainers would not pack in the oddly shaped wound in his soul.

"I can play the part."

He only played.

The West Ballroom had turned into a large eating hall for the men gathered together this morning. Hundreds of men looking to meet and see him. The news was spread all over the city, and Mr. George explained a crowd outside wished to see the missing Darcy returned. Mr. George was the master of the London house, and he was a Darcy, but they called him by his first name while the Darcy was present.

The room fit hundreds of people for balls, lectures, and concerts. Today they packed the ballroom with people connected to the Darcy clan, who thus had a right to be with him on this morning.

The room was along one long edge of the palace, with a roof that rose twenty feet bearing long chandeliers and a row of windows below. The wall opposite the windows was covered in a massive mirror made from one plate by enchantments that had taken his grandfather and his great uncles a month to create. The mirror reflected with such perfection that a man could not tell the difference betwixt himself and his reflection.

The tables were loaded with breakfast fish, ham and rolls. Pastries piled thick on platters. Tubs of butter and sizzling bacon. Instead of going to the table at the front, Darcy waded into the crowd, shaking hands and connecting himself to his people and them to him.

This public function of the head of the clan was not Darcy's favorite task. Neither had it been his father's. They both required a period of quiet and calm to recover following a long time in the company of many others. Darcy would be silent when he took to horse for the journey to Pemberley that would begin after he'd collected all the men he would take with him to set matters into order.

Many here had not been present to greet him the previous night when he awoke. Most had tears in their eyes. Roiling magic flooded the room, intensified by the emotions of his people. The emotion strengthened Darcy.

He exalted in the position he held, in his sense of duty, in the way he would entirely submit himself into the role, the part of being their leader, protector, and master. Their highest servant.

The nagging sense of absence refused to leave. He hated that itch. It had nothing to do with the loss of six years and that little fear that he might lose to his enemy. This absence was deep.

Darcy walked next to the large buffet tables. He ignored the special food prepared for him, and grabbed the bacon and ham prepared for his men. He ate the salty meat with his left hand and shook again and again the hands of his people, paying no attention to whether the person was gentlemen or commoner.

When he finished the meal, hundreds yet remained in the room whose hands he had not yet touched, but time ran short. He had given the orders for the group of soldiers and their preparations to be arranged last night.

Something desperate and stalking existed in him. Darcy feared what vengeance he could wreak.

Darcy looked around. He should stand on the table to make a speech. His father was more reserved, but never had a real war been fought by the clan for many years.

"Darcy, my god! Darcy! You! Alive! I never, ever thought I'd see the day you would return and take your position."

Richard Fitzwilliam stood behind him.

"Richard!" The two embraced.

Darcy's instinctive paranoia retained the protections he now would always keep between him and his cousin. But he believed in his cousin.

Darcy stood back and examined the colonel. A deep scar sat across his face, marring his appearance. Ill magics filled the scar such that it was impossible to heal. Richard looked drained and thin, the skin over his cheeks pulled in and pinched. A dull tiredness to his eyes, despite the brightness of their greeting.

Darcy exclaimed, "The years have been no kinder to you than to me. What the deuce happened?"

"Where were you? How did you escape? When you disappeared—"

"I know not. My return was delayed, for my memories were gone, and when Mr. Roberts restored my memories, what I knew of the time since I disappeared, itself disappeared. I recall Wickham prepared to fight me. He alone could not manage me — so thin, and that scar."

"War. Ugly war. The French, the vicious bastards. We've taken back Spain."

"Spain? They took Spain?"

"I forget. Six years. And you know none of it. My God. My God, Fitzwilliam, you look good. Better than I have ever seen anyone. Healthy and strong. How did it happen?"

"I do not know. It is strange. But a gentleman must always be prepared to deal with odd circumstances. It is our nature." Darcy laughed hollowly. "Something is lost, not just time. Enough! Can you come with us?"

"I have been in an office position here in England these last months. It was trivial to beg the time off once I heard of your return and ran to here. You are going to take Wickham? I have never liked how he managed your family matters. It has not been the Darcy way. I could never approve of anyone who was not you."

"Yes, Wickham."

"I always wondered if it was he. He gained the most. The regency, and the control of Georgiana's education. I suspect he wishes to marry her, but little I could do but counsel her against such a course."

Little Georgiana! Marriage? She was just nine! A tiny child.

By Jove.

Darcy felt as though he could cry. His little sister was a young miss of sixteen who had likely forgotten him. Yet he loved her so dearly.

"She is well. I see her whenever I am near Pemberley. She plays music like a divine goddess. And she has grown tall and robust. Much like you. Like myself, she has not forgotten,"

Darcy laid his hand on Richard's shoulder. "My dearest friend — Wickham betrayed me. You and Anthony are the friends who remain. It hurts. I try not to think of it. But I see each of us older — I have lost the chance to watch the changes — I look strange to my own eyes, though I am healthy and strong. And this ache in my heart. It makes me want to slash at myself to drive it away. To act in a manner not befitting Darcy. My duty to the family must propel me. You always were skilled at matters of combat. I need your advice and aid."

"I am your man. You know that."

"If Wickham has not yet heard of my return, the news will be his hours before we can reach him. But I know not how I was defeated alone. I will take no risks by attacking him underprepared. I must be supported by a group of men."

"You fear the damage Wickham will do. To the house, to the others there. How he might take hostages."

"Yes."

Richard turned aside and cursed viciously. Darcy was shocked to hear those words from his cousin's mouth. Then he said, "I apologize — but Georgiana! He might seize your sister and threaten her life to gain a guarantee of safety."

Georgiana's little girlish features and wide eyes flashed before his own eyes. Terrible anger rose in Darcy's throat and chest. Wickham had stolen six years. He might steal Georgie's life from her.

"Let me ahead." Richard placed his hand in friendship upon Darcy's shoulder. "I cannot reach Wickham before he hears the news, but I can find him before much more time passes. Imbue me with a right over the house, I can sneak and kill him before he has a chance to act in any way. We learned many such tricks on the Peninsula."

Rage in Darcy's mind screamed for Wickham to die. That vicious desire to slash. There was something emotional, irrational in the anger. "I cannot kill him yet. Until I know how he captured me, I will never sleep easy. I suspect…"

Darcy glanced at the men of his house, standing near on the marble floors of the room, chattering endlessly. He pulled a cloak of unintelligibility about him, as he did not wish to spread suspicion and paranoia to all his people. "The only way I can understand how Wickham defeated me was if another who I trusted betrayed me with him. I do not wish to suspect everyone. Perhaps there are two dozen people who had the capability to successfully help him. Good important friends. Men of honour, ability and loyalty. I must know from Wickham who helped him."

Richard swallowed. "For that reason, I did not suspect Wickham too greatly. He had not the skill or power to harm you." The officer put his thumbs through his belt loops and frowned. "Two traitors."

"Can you capture Wickham if you go ahead?"

Richard rubbed at his chin. His furious glare out the windows matched the sun shining in. A cloud intervened betwixt them and the sun, as though the sun blinked and Richard had won the staring contest.

Darcy put his hand on Richard's shoulder. "Your answer is clear in your expression. You cannot guarantee success."

"Give me the order to kill him. There is much risk in letting him live. Think of Georgiana, and think what damage he might do to the magic of the house." Richard's eyes glowed with menace. "You know what ought to be done to a traitor."

"I shall kill him. But not before I know."

Richard grabbed the scar on his cheek, pulling the skin apart so that it seemed to glow black and red in the morning sunlight. "This is what happens when you do not strike the enemy with all your power. When mercy leads you. Do you wish such an injury to Georgiana? To your people. You burn with anger against Wickham, and I burn for what he did. Kill him. Slash him. I am your cousin. Your friend. Your sword. Give me the order to kill."

The list of those who could have betrayed him was long. Mrs. Reynolds, two of his men of business, four of his greatest tenants, his advocate and his old tutors. Each of the second cousins on the Darcy side. None of them were descended through the male line taking the Darcy name, but they were all part of the clan, and he believed in and trusted each of them. Others too.

Even Richard. His regiment had been stationed at Newcastle, and a gentleman in a desperate hurry could make that journey in much less than a day.

He would distrust everyone forever and need to guard himself against all if he did not find the truth from Wickham.

"I must risk much."

Richard growled, "Damned foolishness. You have an enemy; you kill him. I learned that lesson well. Have it your way. I am your man, and I'll help you."

"We ride to Pemberley together. I will promise Wickham his life for his surrender and all his information, but only if he does no harm."

"Fuck. No! If you make that promise, you shall keep it."

"Richard. Are you my sword or are you a member of the Fitzwilliam clan in this matter?"

"He needs to die." Richard looked at Darcy with gaunt malevolence in his eye. "Can you not feel it?"

Darcy felt it. "I am a rational man. I will not be governed by my emotions. I will not distrust all my closest friends forever."

"I am your sword. Damnation! Kill that traitor!"

Richard stomped away, pushing the people around him aside. Darcy wondered what happened to his cousin. He was filled with this wrath. When had he become so thin? When had he gained that edge?

War. Was that what war had done to him?

He must find a position for Richard to let him honourably quit the army so that he could recover his wellbeing and sense of happiness.

Darcy shook that thought aside as the steward of the London affairs came to him and said, "Our men are ready to depart."

The room had half emptied, but down on the street he could see parts of the crowd of horsemen collected. They were diverting the traffic in the street into a narrow edge so that they could collectively leave in a group of almost one hundred, all gentlemen so they could travel at great speed. The retainers had dressed in the livery of the house, and someone had found an old war banner which was held by one of the leading horsemen, waving in the wind.

The Darcy lion biting a dragon.

A small army of retainers. More men would gather at his side, beneath his banner as he entered his lands. If he possessed no chance to take Wickham by surprise, he would face him with overwhelming force. And the men within Pemberley itself, almost all would remain loyal to him, and not to the widely disliked steward.

The ancient blood of Darcy returned, wielding fire and magic.


	29. Chapter 29

The gentlemen rode horses lightened by their magical workings, so they could run for hours at a full gallop without tiring themselves. Each man fed energy into his horse, allowing the animal to run without food or exhaustion. For short distances flight and physical translocation could move a gentleman far more quickly. But horses were the fastest way to travel greater than twenty miles. Few gentlemen could travel through air for lengthier distances; translocation tired the user quickly, and in general was only used to gain tactical advantage or to reach inaccessible locations.

So slow.

Messages must be reaching Wickham. It had been more than a full day already since they set out. Darcy's group had been forced to slow several times to burn away the ice on the road. The working which lightened the horses made them unstable, and it was dangerous to ride them at a full speed over ice. He'd intended to stop for the night less than forty miles from Pemberley, but instead they stopped at nearly a hundred miles.

Halfway through the day they had run into a wall of pelting sleet that slowed the men to a near crawl until in frustration Darcy created a massive spell that cleared the road of water for a mile in front of him. He'd only been able to hold it for a quarter of an hour. But that he could do such a great working at all… that he even tried shocked him. When had he become so much more powerful?

Darcy had recently galloped down this road. Just a few weeks before… six years ago. When he had returned after visiting his London holdings.

The same buildings. A few were missing. And a few others had been built. The same season, but different fields were left fallow and different fields had winter wheat. There were new enclosures. Entire groves of trees were missing, and in other places saplings had grown into vibrant young trees, and vibrant young trees had begun to mature.

The hundred men entered the land of Pemberley with a rumbling roar, and the instant he was upon his own land Darcy felt the heady, exalting rush. The consciousness of the house flowed through him. The weight of the centuries and its beauty. In the back of his mind he felt the memory of the house, the records of its existence layered into the massive stones of the foundation.

The vibration through all his pores, and the sense of bricks and fields being happy at their master's return.

Wickham was not present. Nowhere within Darcy's lands could the steward be sensed — except he no longer was steward, he had disavowed the connection, so that Darcy could not track him through it. And Georgiana. Georgiana was absent as well.

She must live still, else she could not be a hostage.

Darcy pulled the reins on his horse. He studied, with eyes of a master, the rolling hills and the tall trees and the statuary of the park, and the marble columns and stone walls of his home. He saw the magic of his land, the magic of his people. They gathered in the courtyard of Pemberley. In the gathering place for times of danger, celebration, or mourning.

The power of the house called to him. The power should be used in such a time as this.

And Darcy spoke: "I am returned! I, Fitzwilliam Darcy, the master of these lands, the lord of this house, and your protector. For six years mine absence has endured, but I return, and I take my rightful place. You are my subjects and I am your highest servant. Always Darcy! Always Pemberley!"

The shout rang out, audible in every square mile of his domains. It passed through the connections tying Pemberley to every station and office of the Darcy clan, to the grand house in Derby, to the fields twenty miles away around the town of Lambton, to the nobles who had pledged their support to the Darcys in times of trouble. All connected to him heard his shout.

Darcy rode forward at a gallop to the house. He must enter the inner foundation, the center of the Darcy clan. He must restore the connection and commune with the house. Only then could he be free to chase Wickham and Georgiana. Darcy went slowly enough towards Pemberley that the fastest dozen of his men kept up with him, even though he could outpace them with ease.

Except for Richard. He believed from the ease with which he followed that Richard could pace him.

Signs, yet small, of decay met his eyes and magical sense.

The peasant tenants had not been given enough capital and magic and their homes and fields displayed the lack. A few houses had been abandoned, and a few beggars allowed to live on in tiny huts.

This was what his people had told him in London.

Wickham had been a poor steward.

Pemberley rose ahead of them. A grand mansion in the style of the seventeenth century. Long wings, a giant statue in the center, a pond filled with magic, water leaping high into the air, and then falling unnaturally slowly down. Gardens that flowered no matter the time of year. The smell of citrus, and jasmine, and fresh roses.

The gardens had been well cared for at least.

Darcy pulled up at the courtyard. A statue fifteen feet in height stood in the middle. His great- great-grandfather, the man who had brought William of the Netherlands to the crown. He held a sword out. The mighty bronze statue had turned green with age. The crowd gathered round it. Men and women in the clothes of their daily lives. Already thousands of people. So many cried. More streamed to the gathering, following the horses.

They screamed and cheered when they saw him.

Home.

Fitzwilliam Darcy, the missing prince of Pemberley, was home.

Darcy leapt from the horse.

His people gathered about him, touching him and he touched them in return. Each time there was a flow betwixt them in which potentia left Darcy, yet each touch somehow left Darcy more powerful than before.

He was pushed through the screaming crowd to the grand entry hall, its doors held wide open. The staff of the house stood, in their uniforms. Footmen in livery, the butler, Mrs. Reynolds crying and embracing him.

Just as with Richard before, Darcy did not release his hold on his magical armor when Mrs. Reynolds embraced him. He was ready for a desperate strike from this dear woman to kill him. But despite the paranoia, he was still desperately happy to see her.

He walked into Pemberley. He needed to claim his full right.

Pemberley welcomed him.

Darcy tingled with emotion, pride and power. His finger buzzed, every inch of his head bubbled with fey pulsing, his toes could barely be felt, yet his movements were rock steady. At the end of the grand entrance hall was a small door. It could only be opened with the combination of a key held by the steward and a key held by the keeper of the house.

Or by the will of the true master of Pemberley.

The door threw itself open as Darcy reached it.

The crowd which had followed packed the massive hall. They cheered.

Darcy entered.

The door softly closed of its own will behind him. The room glowed with an eerie low light. Pemberley whispered aloud here, almost sentient in its moanings. Almost human. The spirit of his parents and grandparents echoed here, and all his ancestors down to the distant ancestor who had established a holding on this land. His ancestors were here with him.

Something was missing.

He perceived now with perfect clarity. No imagination. A hole, gaping and wide in his soul. Something ripped out and some part of his being leaked away through it. This was that which caused the ache.

What had been done to him?

In this moment of greatness, of triumph, Darcy experienced sadness. His soul was missing. His heart. And this… none of this could fill it for him. No matter how he wished, or begged, or desired. He must find it.

But first.

Darcy bowed his head against the rock on which words were inscribed only intelligible to one of the blood by which the Darcys had always lived. Mystic power flooded his being, magic carved into strength by the will and work of hundreds of scholarly gentlemen and great warriors.

Pemberley asked a question to him, but in such a way as to show it already knew his answer. Darcy returned the expected answer. He was willing to submit all to the honour of the clan.

He was the master of Pemberley.

Darcy rose. There was little time, and he must find Wickham and rescue his sister.

The light blinded him when he opened the door once more and returned unto the vast great hall. The crowd remained. They cheered and cried. There were shouts of glee. Shouts of praise. Cries that they had always known he would return.

Darcy stood upon a dais that stood in the back of the hall, next to the door that led to the foundation stone. "I am returned. My once friend, my steward, Wickham, betrayed me and fled. I must seek him now, and I must defeat him. And when I am returned I will listen to all your grievances and hear all charges. I am the Darcy of Pemberley. You are my people, my friends, and I am eternally your man."


	30. Chapter 30

"No sign of Georgiana and Wickham is fled." Richard's presence had that angry menace once more. "Upon your head if she dies."

"He will not do that." Darcy kept fear out of his voice. "Pemberley spoke to me where they went, which direction they left our house from, and to whence they travel. He left only fifteen minutes before I arrived. Wickham cannot flee so very far."

Darcy mounted his horse again.

Richard followed suit, as did the best soldiers of the house.

The time had come. He would wreak vengeance. But Wickham's knowledge. He must protect his sister.

The two had left through the northern border of Pemberley, and Wickham could move quickly. But he was not far ahead.

Darcy led the chase.

He did not want to go so far ahead that his soldiers could not support him, but there was an edge of desperation in his mind. Little Georgiana, her childlike face upturned.

In a half of an hour they reached the edge of Darcy's lands where Wickham had left. Darcy had to pause for a long minute to study the magic there. It was not clear which direction they had gone. Richard after a few seconds caught up with Darcy, and looking at him almost contemptuously made an angry gesture of his hand and growled. Then flashing of dark and blackening magic.

"You let him go, and now you can't track them? That way. To Scotland, and he'll barely take a detour, I expect. He wants to marry her to force you to come to some terms. Let me off to kill him while yet remains the time. I can catch him yet."

"Alive. I need him alive."

Richard spat at the ground. "Too good for a traitor like him. You say you need the information — he'll not give you true knowledge. He'll accuse someone you ought to trust just to sow chaos and then he'll escape justice while an innocent takes his punishment."

"I can tell when he lies."

Richard sneered dismissively. He shot off, a spray of snow under the hooves of the horse. This time only a dozen men traveled with them. The best soldiers and trackers, on the best trained horses. Animals used to being kept light and running over ice and snow and riders who knew how to control their mounts in the most frightening of circumstances.

Wickham could not escape them or reach Scotland before they reached him.

After a minute following the trail through a set of fields and leaping over several of the tall hedges draped with snow, Darcy sensed the remains of Georgiana's magic flaming through this cold land. Wickham was too well hidden for him to be able to sense his former steward.

Perhaps Wickham had convinced Georgiana to travel in a different direction from himself to throw them off the trail? Maybe they weren't following Wickham's path at all, but just Georgiana's? And Wickham would escape, and he would never know who the other traitor was.

He needed to know.

Was there even another traitor? Perhaps Wickham had simply caught him by surprise or unimagined stratagem.

They joined the Great North Road, running its long pathway up towards Edinburgh. Other gentlemen crossed this pathway, and many commoners went up and down the road. When Darcy asked his men to question the travelers along the road they found that none of the commoners had seen Wickham and Georgiana, but that was meaningless. The scent along the road was confused with that of other gentry, but Richard seemed fully confident.

Darcy wondered how he was so confident.

They rode forward at a rapid clatter that ate the ground up in front of them. Sometimes they were forced to ride around a peasant who did not remove himself and his cart from the road quickly enough, but usually the road cleared ahead of them due to the thunder of their passage.

This road was less familiar than the one to London had been the day before. Another storm in front of them. The loss of visibility and the sleet would slow them down. Were they following the right path? With a squeeze of his knees Darcy brought his horse level with Richard's and pulled up a working that allowed the sound of his voice to cut cleanly through the rushing air so Richard would hear it, even though both of them galloped down the icy road at more than twenty-five miles in an hour.

"I can feel nothing of Wickham, and what I sense of Georgiana is barely there. It could be my imagination."

Richard did not answer. He grimaced and spurred his horse faster. Darcy saw an icy patch in front of Richard, and for a terrifying instant he imagined his cousin slipping off it and being thrown head first towards a tree on the side of the road at such a velocity. But Richard forced his horse to leap over the ice at the last minute, and when his hooves clattered to the ground they again sprayed the snow about.

Darcy caught up once again with Richard. His cousin may be an independent man, but Darcy had a right to know how certain he was. It was his sister who was in danger.

Richard shouted back, "How did you escape? Do you really not recall?"

"What has that to do with anything?"

"I am shocked you could do anything when your senses are so dull. What did you do to get away?"

"How do you know I did not spend the past six years on a Caribbean island enjoying the sun and the fruit, and the rum?"

"You?" Richard laughed as they entered the storm and galloped through the sleet. "Never. Not you."

It drained the energy of his men quickly to keep both themselves and their animals warm in such weather. Similar exhaustion showed on Richard's face. His cousin pushed himself too hard.

Richard laughed as though possessed. It slowed him down, which was good as it allowed the men behind them to catch up to them, their horses panting heavily, and each showing a little droop.

They continued through the sleet.

"You don't want to kill Wickham. Soft. Your deepest failing. Darcy, that always was your failing. You can't be soft on Wickham."

"Do not be absurd. If I kill him I'll always need to distrust everyone around me."

"Only if? Damned fool. Damned soft fool. Distrust everyone, no matter what. You were captured and suffered — I'd wager you suffered vastly, even if you cannot remember it — because you were too trusting and soft."

"I knew enough to distrust Wickham already."

Richard turned to the side and spat into the cold, pouring rain. "That did you little good."

They traveled in the storm at only half the speed of before, but the storm was large enough that surely Wickham and Georgiana were caught by it as well, and his sister as a woman could not have the skills to continue at speed.

If they did escape?

Wickham had enough of a head start that it would take them most of the day to haul him down. After they'd traveled through the rain, Darcy felt his trail. Georgiana and Wickham now left behind a dusting of their potentia, intertwined together, as they supported each other to travel as fast as they could.

Now any of them could track the duo. Time passed, and the early Northern night had fallen. They had traveled two thirds of the way to the Scottish border when the fifteen men caught sight of the pair, both riding magnificent horses, a few hundred feet away in the dim dark.

It was clear that the horse Georgiana rode was in far superior condition, while Wickham had ridden his horse into a stupor. The two rode together closely, Wickham drooping and weak in his saddle, while his sister still sat tall, with a hand on the shoulder of Wickham's horse, allowing her to direct it and push the potentia into it along with her own.

It made Darcy proud of his sister to see that she was such a fine gentlewoman and horsewoman, even if she used this skill to flee him.

She looked so adult. A woman, a young Miss. Darcy's chest clenched, and tears swam in his eyes. He had lost her childhood and now she was a stranger.

They rode upon the pair with a thundering roar.

Georgiana heard them as they came upon them and she and Wickham dropped from their horses. She pulled a defensive enchantment in. Wickham cowered behind her, shorter and insubstantial next to a true Darcy.

"Believe him not." Georgiana threw her head back, attempting to look entirely commanding. "Men of Pemberley, I am your heir, this is an imposter."

Darcy held his hand up to stop the men. He kept a careful eye on Wickham, but he could not strike at the man in a disabling way through his sister's shield. He dismounted and walked forward. The hard icy ground crunched under his feet. Moonlight glimmered, reflecting off the ice in a thousand glittering rays.

He completely focused his attention on Georgiana, leaving only an edge of his awareness for Wickham. Richard had also left his horse, and begun to walk around the edge, but he then shimmered away from awareness, and Darcy paid no further attention to him.

When she saw Darcy, her face paled as the moonlight fell full upon him. "Can you not see me?"

"You look very much like — that can be faked."

"Surely you do not think such a modest thing alone that proves my name?"

Darcy steadily walked towards her as he spoke quietly.

"No closer! I'll strike at you."

"Wickham has lied to you. He betrayed me. He is the reason I have been gone for so long. But, dear Georgie, I am returned. My dear sister—"

"You are not my brother. You are an imposter!"

"Did Wickham tell you that? Was that why you ran with him? Did you feel no doubt?"

"He…" The uncertainty showed in the open expression of her mouth.

"You can feel my potentia. You feel that I am your family. Pemberley accepted me. Pemberley could never accept an imposter. Georgie, you are Darcy. You recognize me in your bones."

She glared at him, but he radiated the power, the magic. Her glare softened into something else. "But…"

"You sense it."

She blinked, a shocked look falling over her face, and then a smile. "Is it possible?"

"It is." Darcy held his arms wide.

"You are alive!" She dropped the defensive barrier around her and Wickham and took a tottering step towards him. Wickham in an instant leapt to his feet and pulled a pistol from his coat, placing it against Georgiana's back.

Wickham's eyes darted between them all. The moon shone on his unscarred, pampered face. A rat-like desperation shone from his gleaming eyes.

It disgusted Darcy to see how well the years had treated him compared to the changes in the scarred and wan face of his cousin who had nobly served the crown. There was so much fear in Wickham's handsome features that they were distorted.

Darcy felt the pain that came from how he yet loved his childhood friend. Richard had been right. He was soft. He did not only hope for information. He hoped to save his friend's life.

Wickham shouted. "Don't any of you move! I'll blow her heart out. My pistol is enchanted so the wound will never heal. She'll be dead. Dead. You don't want that."

Darcy slowly stepped forward. "We do not need to do it that way."

"Let me marry her! Else I'll kill her."

"You know I cannot let you do that. But I do not want to hurt you."

"There are things I know! Things you need to know! You don't think killing me will end it!"

"I don't. If you tell me those things you'll live."

"I'll only tell them if you let me marry her."

"Wickham, you are seen out. You have exposed yourself. My sister is too wise to wish to marry you any longer."

"She will, or I'll kill her."

"You do not wish to do that—"

"I will!"

"You would not like what I would do to you then. Lay your weapon down, and I swear I'll not kill you."

"You will leave me steward. I am owed Georgiana — after all I've done, I—"

"Never, but you shall live in comfort."

Darcy thought Wickham's expression wavered. In the same soothing voice Darcy said, "Now turn your pistol away, point it at the ground, and we can talk."

Wickham did lower his pistol, but it was in a position where he could bring it up in an instant. Wickham was too talented a gentleman for Darcy to risk the attack, but he breathed easier again. Rather than fright, Georgiana looked at Wickham with contempt.

A new voice rang out: "You cannot trust him."

Richard had crept around, and he stood a mere ten feet from the two, his blade out, glittering in the moonlight. He stood behind Georgiana and Wickham.

Wickham jerked around and screamed like a banshee. He laughed emptily, "Fitzwilliam!"

"Give up, Wickham. Give up." Richard spoke in a menacing whisper.

Wickham jerkily looked between Richard and Darcy. "Darcy, you cannot—"

Wickham's hand holding the pistol jerked upwards moving to point at Georgiana once more, and in a terrifying instant of adrenaline his fingers began to tighten. Darcy knew there was nothing he could do in time.

Darcy had felt and seen nothing from Wickham to show that he would attack. Wickham's eyes were odd, as though he was just as surprised and scared as Darcy. Richard had instantly thrown himself forward as Wickham moved, seeming to be in motion even before Wickham was. There was a sickening crunch and then Richard ran towards Darcy, holding a sobbing Georgiana in his arms. His blade was held confidently in his other hand, trailing drops of blood, black in the dim light of the night.

Wickham's severed head rolled to the other side, the veins still spurting.


	31. Chapter 31

Two weeks now.

Elizabeth felt as though she were dead inside. But she was not. She hurt too much.

When Mr. Roberts visited, Elizabeth tried to answer the questions he asked, but she could not explain the truth. Mr. Roberts was not to be trusted.

Mr. Roberts had broken their connection and stolen William's memories. He had sent her to the doctor who bled her years before.

He gained no great information with which to cause her further torments.

Elizabeth had only begged that he send William to see her again. If she could see William, perhaps everything would be fixed, somehow.

The news spread round the lands around Meryton of Mr. Darcy's extraordinary return. They heard how he had killed his steward in a terrible battle that occurred in front of his sister.

Even though he had won, Elizabeth shivered to hear the story.

The whole of the country was fascinated by the extraordinary tale.

The gentry of their little community did not yet connect the extraordinary story of Mr. Darcy's return from his disappearance to the Mr. William who had stayed at Longbourn for a few months. No one except Jane and Bingley had known that Elizabeth and Darcy had agreed to marry. There were not the stares full of disdainful pity that followed an abandoned girl everywhere.

Alone.

For the first time in her life she was alone. The connection was gone, and it had always been there before.

So alone it made her sick.

After a week Elizabeth learned that William would return from Pemberley to London to swear fealty to king now that he had retaken his position. A grand ceremony, and he would likely remain resident in London for at least a week.

She could see him again, if only Papa would let her go.

"London. Please, Papa. Let me go to London. He will be there, I'll see him."

Mr. Bennet slowly shook his head. Elizabeth didn't know what to do beyond begging. If Papa refused she would run away, and sneak to London to see him. Without the connection to William she felt lost, not what she used to be.

"Papa. Papa, I have to see him. He will be there, and then — I am sure! Once he sees he me… He'll remember."

Elizabeth hated to see her father look that way. He looked sad.

Tears started into her eyes. She had not been able to eat or sleep or even read since it had happened. Nothing mattered to her. Her entire life had centered around William — she sometimes thought it would have been better if she had died after she rescued William.

"Papa. I'll never…I'll never understand if I can't see him. He has to let me. Mr. Roberts spoke about a reward — I will never beg for anything else. London. Two hours away—"

"Likely three with the condition of the roads in this season."

"—I could stay with the Gardiners again, and you'll not need to go to any effort."

"You imagine I'd place you under their protection again? Not likely. Not after the trouble and pain last time."

Elizabeth's face bloomed into a smile. "You will take me?"

Mr. Bennet looked away from her smile, as though hurt by it. "Nothing good will come of you torturing yourself. Maybe once you see that William is Mr. Darcy and understand how arrogant a man of his ilk is, you will let go your infatuation."

"Papa! Thank you!"

"You will make no fool of yourself. Mr. Darcy does not remember you. A man who did not know his position and name cannot be bound by promises made then. You understand?"

"Yes! Yes, I do. He'll remember me once he sees me!"

Papa looked grey, as though struck. He did not believe in her connection to William. He never had. "You must — promise you will make no scene when he does not remember. He is a very great man."

Elizabeth tried to be solemn. Her father wanted to see somberness. She nodded, without smiling.

She would see William again! Elizabeth could not stay somber. Just two days! When their eyes connected he would remember.

Maybe he wouldn't remember, but he would feel something when he saw her. When they talked… her William would return. He could not be gone. The universe would not be so unfair.

They were connected. Their souls were. The past weeks were simply some odd mistake.

The next two days ran past in a dreamlike state. Mama never quite understood why Papa didn't let Elizabeth go to London with William, and she thought it strange that he had not tried to contact William again, especially since William turned out to be that Darcy.

She was now convinced that Elizabeth had been on the verge of convincing him to marry her, and like Elizabeth she was convinced that William only needed to see her daughter again for the most fantastical match to be made.

Mrs. Bennet worried Papa would make some mistake that prevented matters from coming to such a happy conclusion. So she insisted on coming to London with them, and Papa was too deflated to argue against her.

The ride in the piled carriage to London took more than three hours due to the ice. Papa made little effort to clear the ice, instead he let the horses meander along at barely two miles an hour, led by hand by their freezing coachman and groom. Elizabeth stepped out of the carriage, to help them.

Perhaps Papa thought some event he dreaded would be put off if they did not reach London.

But they did.

The Gardiners' townhouse was a three-story brick structure inside the ancient city itself, and thus a place where gentlemen had no right to own land, or reside for more than a fortnight, and only at the personal invitation of a member in good standing of one of the livery companies.

As soon as they entered the square mile that had been granted in perpetuity to the burghers of London, Elizabeth shivered, as she always did when visiting her aunt and uncle. The wards pressed on her and suppressed her ability to shape great workings of magic.

This suppression had never felt unpleasant to her before, because she could still feel the connection to William. That connection felt stronger within the vast field as other magical sensations were dulled.

Now Elizabeth felt sick. With her magic suppressed that gaping hole ached. That gaping hole where part of her very being was absent, with little bits of her soul feeling as though they leaked out through the hole and drifted away into the dark emptiness of the endless universe.

These wardings had existed more than a thousand years — legend claimed they reached back in the time to when the city was known as Londinium and conquered by the Romans.

Mr. Gardiner and Mrs. Gardiner greeted them.

Mama jumped out and embraced her brother. "At last Mr. Bennet has seen wisdom. If only he allowed us all to go to London at first. But now we are to see Mr. Darcy while he is here. He'll see Lizzy, and not be able to resist her. I was quite sure the only reason they did not marry before was that he could not without a name — she and William were quite sly about it all."

"Yes, she and William were sly," Mrs. Gardiner replied, but she looked at Elizabeth with worried and sad eyes. There was no rancor left in her.

Elizabeth did not cry.

Papa, and Mr. Bingley, and even Jane looked at her sadly, like Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner looked at her now. There was no reason to be sad. The loss ached but it would go away as soon as she saw him and he remembered.

Mr. Gardiner frowned at Mrs. Bennet. "We hope that is the case."

"Of course it is! He was infatuated, I tell you. I never imagined Lizzy would make a fantastic match. I thought Bingley was the best any of the girls could hope for. And Lizzy, with her useless ways was the least likely."

"It is cold for some of us." Mrs. Gardiner ushered them all in. Mama bustled in, taking her sister-in-law's arm.

Mrs. Bennet said, "Help me find something special for Lizzy to wear. No time for a new dress to be ordered — I brought the perfect dress, but it is a season old — we can make sure everything else is fresh."

Mr. Gardiner, Papa, and Elizabeth were left in the entry hall of the Gardiners' house.

Papa asked, "What shall happen when we request an audience? You had a good sense of Mr. Darcy's character."

"Hard to tell. He will at least see you and Lizzy. As for the rest…if he remembers, it will go well. But not unless he remembers. I do not understand such magic."

"Hmph. Deuced rich family. I wish Lizzy had not dragged us into this game. But we need to play it now. He'll not remember — or if he does, he will have too much pride to marry such a girl. Lizzy, I do not wish to be cruel. Cruel would be to allow you to hope and expect, like you do now, and then be broken when he neither remembers, nor likes you."

"He will. Nothing else could happen — you both are being…scientific again. The bond between William and me is deeper than that."

Papa rolled his eyes. "None of your mysticism. I'll write out the letter to ask for a visit, and then go to bed. Mrs. Bennet's chattering exhausted me."

"What if…" Elizabeth blanched as a possibility that she had not thought of before crossed her mind. "Should he refuse an audience, I must see him."

Mr. Bennet replied, "We will not bother such a great man without his permission. If he refuses an audience, we will not go."

"What if there is no reply? I am sure he will agree to see me. Part of him must remember. Perhaps some servant will not understand the importance. I must see William. Even if he tries to avoid it."

"You will not. I will ensure my request for an audience is taken seriously and read by Mr. Darcy himself, and I am a gentleman and head of a house. Even if we are a small family, a request from a man of my ilk for a simple morning audience about a matter of importance will not be ignored; not even by a man of Darcy's grandeur."

The next morning a note was returned in William's hand — Elizabeth studied it closely for any hint of affection. There was none.

It would please me to grant Mr. Bennet and his daughter an audience tomorrow. Due to the demands on my time during my brief stay in London, I cannot extend the audience beyond a quarter of an hour at precisely half past two o'clock tomorrow. I have been made to understand I owe the Bennet family a deep debt of gratitude, and the doors of the Darcy family shall always be open to you. Further I am curious to interrogate Miss Elizabeth further in person about the story which she gave to Mr. Roberts. Despite the recent death of my former steward Mr. Wickham, many questions remain about the conditions under which I was imprisoned.

Yours,

Fitzwilliam Darcy

Nothing of the lover.

She'd never seen a less loverlike letter.

He refused to even address her directly, but wrote about her as though she was simply an object to be brought before his curiosity. Elizabeth stared and stared at the letter. When she asked for it, Papa let her take it with her to her room. She cast three different spells to check for hidden messages, feeling stupider with each attempt.

Even with the suppressing wards, she had placed enough power into the spells that they should have worked. Besides the wards only kept major workings from acting.

No hidden message.

Elizabeth cried.

She knew he didn't remember. Of course he acted like this when he didn't know. She shouldn't feel so terrible. He wasn't really rejecting her. He'd remember. He had to. When he saw her he would remember, and everything would be perfect once more.

Mrs. Bennet eagerly helped Elizabeth the next day to dress and prepare. She was bathed and her hair was fondled over for hours.

Elizabeth felt faint and light the entire time. The strengthened sensation of the ache in her soul due to the suppressive fields made her barely attend to her surroundings. When it came time to put on a dress, Mrs. Bennet thrust one at her. "Lizzy, wear this blue dress! Mr. William's eyes — I mean Mr. Darcy — he won't resist once he sees you wearing this."

Without thinking Elizabeth donned the dress Mama had given her. When she looked at it in the mirror she saw that it displayed the skin of her bosom very prominently, and she would need to bleed magic to keep warm wearing it in this weather.

"Mama, I really should not wear this." Elizabeth began to pull at the strings to loosen the dress.

Mrs. Bennet stopped her from doing so. "Keep it on. Keep it on! I know men better than you."

Mr. Bennet stomped into the room. "Enough. Enough time. We can delay no longer. Mr. Darcy was quite strict on the time given for our audience."

"Nonsense, Lizzy needs to be dressed properly."

"Good god. What are you two thinking with that dress? To sell Lizzy like a painted whore? But no time. No time."

Mr. Bennet roughly pulled at Elizabeth's arm and dragged her down the stairs and out to the wintry street.

Elizabeth refused to worry about her clothes.

She was going to see William. He would remember everything. They would laugh over the style choices of Mrs. Bennet. Her life would be perfect once more. There was no need for her to worry herself about a matter as trivial as a slightly immodest dress.

They piled into Mr. Gardiner's substantial carriage. Mr. Bennet walked around to the front of the carriage and chanted a spell to change the appearance of the coat of arms from that of the tradesman Gardiner family to the checkered green and yellow of the Longbourn crest. Elizabeth watched as he drew his gloved hand around the edge of the iron plate, and she felt in the whisper of power as he released the spell. But the working was deformed and nothing happened.

Her father stamped and clapped his hands together. Each breath expelled clouds of mist. He touched the coat of arms again, and he cast the spell again.

Once again, nothing happened.

Papa walked around and he rapidly cursed under his breath. He returned to the carriage and cast it one more time. The coat of arms changed, but the colors were not quite right and the illusion wavered in and out of existence.

Papa punched the side of the carriage. "By Jove! Not today."

He punched the carriage again, and entered and sat next to Elizabeth.

She looked at him.

"Your William knows full well we are not a great family." Papa reached his hand out onto the roof and hit it. "To Darcy. Darcy house."

The carriage wheels clattered over the cobblestones and they left the wealthy commoners district and Gracechurch street setting off through a workmen's district that separated the square mile from the houses of the gentry and aristocracy. In this section the workmen's apartment buildings went up many stories, and often there were only a few tiny windows. Elizabeth's eye traced the fittings for large logs that had supported jutting floors which stretched halfway over the street when the apartments had been built. They had been ripped out a few decades ago when it was decreed that the air over the roads must be kept clear of buildings.

The people here were poor, and they shivered as they walked along the windy streets. Beggars huddled under thin blankets and rags in the cold, with ragged hats held out. They were tolerated here, but the wealthy, both commoner and aristocrat, refused to allow beggars to interfere with their morning walks. Beggars were kept away from those districts by watchmen.

The sky was grey and sunless. The fog from the pulsing smokestacks commoners used for heat was so thick it looked as though the sun had ceased to exist. Had there ever really been a sun, or was that too, like her connection to William, a false memory.

Some philosopher said that one could not be certain that you had not been formed into existence a mere five minutes before, and that perhaps all your memories were fictions. She had perhaps been formed, just so she could experience this pain, and no happiness had ever been known by anyone. She was entirely alone, and might as well be the only human alive, all the others around her were simulacrums constructed by the devil as part of the tormenting illusion.

They did not need to drive deeply into the aristocratic districts. They went past a single block of the handsome detached houses of gentlemen, those a little wealthier than the Bennets, and able to afford a place in London, but not the vast mansions of the peerage.

There it stood, proud, rising like a castle, seven stories of offices and housing. The bottom story had large rough stones for its facade, and each successive floor had smaller and more finely cut stones, creating an illusion that the building extended forever into the sky.

Surrounded by the two- and three-story houses of smaller gentlemen, it looked massive.

To be mistress of all this would be something grand indeed.

The thought set Elizabeth's heart beating in a terrified staccato. She felt in her bones the insanity of her hope.

William. She believed in William; she believed in their connection.

William was lost, and she would find him. This strange Mr. Darcy would turn back into William, only changed a little. The grandeur of his state was a surface. Not important. Only their bond mattered.

The carriage rode into the square that the walls of the Darcy building enfolded. Elizabeth looked at the coat of arms staring down at her from the top of the gate. A lion feasting upon a dragon.

She'd seen the coat of arms in books of history. When in London with her aunt and uncle, she had been given a tour of the public hall of this building because it was one of the great sights in the city. She'd seen the coat of arms again when she toured the grounds of Pemberley itself with her aunt and uncle. There was a warm and green garden in front of the gate. Elizabeth remembered how Darcy had mingled her power with his to bring the flow from a ley line up so they could construct their own permanent garden. The Darcys were famed for their winter gardens.

That garden still lived. Like her hope did.

Their carriage pulled to a stop in front of the gates, Elizabeth tottered out on the arm of a footman, as her father impatiently walked towards the open gate to show their letter from the master and ask entrance.

Her eyes looked around, away from the menacing building that blocked out the sun. There was a collection of benches in the center of the square, open to the public, not hidden behind the gates. In the middle of the gardens stood a pool with fountains and the bronze statue of a Darcy ancestor on a great horse. The statue had turned greenish with age.

Elizabeth flinched; the statue looked so similar to William. The features had been preserved across the generations since that great ally of Cromwell had broken with the Lord Protector over the execution of Charles I.

A hollow numbness enveloped Elizabeth.

William was Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy.

She stared at the statue. The wind blew around her, making her dress flap around her legs. She should not have come here. The sense of unreality of everything was dissipating.

The nightmare was real.

Papa grabbed her arm, almost roughly, startling her from her distraction. "Come along. We must not miss the appointment."

He looked anxious too. Of course he did. They were going to speak to a man who had no memory of them, but who was one of the greatest lords in the land, for no cleverer reason than that Elizabeth had imagined he would remember her if she just spoke to him.

They walked up the thick marble steps leading to the great door. The marble columns that framed the door were so large they required three full-grown men with their arms spread out to wrap around the giant polished stone.

The guide had told them that when she visited it with her aunt and uncle.

Along the walls were friezes, standing twenty feet tall referring to classical scenes. Inside, the mosaic on the floor spread out over an area bigger than that of the parish church at Longbourn. The image celebrated the family's support of William III which had been essential for the Dutch Prince and his wife to gain broad support against James II.

Elizabeth's eyes darted back and forth in both directions. The high hallway went nearly a hundred feet in each direction, and was lined with statuary and paintings, displaying the wealth and taste of the Darcy clan. On the roof were delicately painted scenes, displaying members of the Darcy family in mythological settings, or victories of the family over their enemies.

Papa had no attention for that, and after a quick glance around that made him grimace, he handed the letter from Mr. Darcy to the clerk guarding the reception. The one man, who seemed too well dressed, and too much the gentleman to be a butler bowed, and led them towards Mr. Darcy's audience room.

They were led up a grand staircase, which offered Elizabeth a better chance to examine the beauty of the massive gold and crystal chandelier dominating the center of the grand hall. It was ridiculous. Had she truly gone flying with the owner of all this? Had they kissed? Had he really held his arms around her and sworn he loved her?

All merely a strange dream.

The hall had a thick red carpet. Magical power flowed through the intricate geometric patterns, and this carpet was part of the defenses of the master's apartments. She stared, her eyes lost in the endless swirling, lagging behind until Papa pulled her along.

They were brought into a surprisingly modest drawing room, with a roof only twelve feet in height, and red and blue silk wall coverings. Elizabeth's senses tingled with the feel of the magic built into the room. There was a mixture of floral patterns, and martial scenes around the walls, and the roof had a delicate wooden tracery.

Before they waited even a minute in the large thickly upholstered chairs, he was there.

Good God!

He barely looked like William. He stood very tall, with a look that combined curiosity and disdain. His clothes were those of a noble, a deeply embroidered rich coat, decorated in at least three places with the Darcy coat of arms, a ceremonial saber to one side, the archaic and conservative woolen breeches coming up to his knees, and a pair of heavy black boots that were polished till they hurt to look at.

He had changed in other ways too.

He was thinner, and there were bags under his eyes. When he looked at her with that sneer, he did not appear happy.

There had always been a happy and accepting light in William's eyes. He had suffered so much, and so long, and he refused to be disappointed by anything. This man only had memories of success and wealth. He would refuse to be satisfied by anything.

She could not sense his magic as she used to sense William's. There was no connection, and there was no light of recognition.

"So. You are Miss Elizabeth Bennet." He spoke after a long pause.

"I am."

"Hmmmm." He stalked around the room, examining her as he walked. "How strange that I could have agreed to marry you."

Elizabeth wanted to cry and die. She starkly stood tall as he looked her over, disdainfully.

"I must have been quite ill. Or perhaps that too is merely story. But enough — did I tell you how I escaped or what was my prison like."

"You… we were. We were connected. So you see, that is how—"

"No nonsense!" His words echoed. "We were never connected. I have no obligation to you. No tie beyond what I choose. Speak of facts, facts."

Elizabeth's eyes looked mournfully at him. He met her gaze, and there was something missing and dead inside. As though his soul was missing like hers was.

He sneered harshly. "The details. How did I escape. You know more than you told Roberts."

"I was told not to give the details to any stranger." Elizabeth coughed with a sob. "William was most frightened of what an enemy might learn."

"William — you mean the man I thought myself to be without my memories. I think you can tell me, as—"

"You are not the same. I'd hoped — you are not. "

"Very pretty. I assure you, the only gentleman who ought to exist in my body does. It was not with an intent to keep key information from me that I told you to be cautious. What did I tell you of how I escaped? What method did I use? If I had been trapped for so many years, it must have been a strange occurrence that gave me an opportunity to use my internal resources to flee. Or was there perhaps a traitor amongst my enemy who helped me? What do you know?"

Something cracked in Elizabeth. It was his assumption that she could have nothing to do with it, when he before had always believed that he owed everything to her. She found herself crying. "I cannot tell you — you would not believe me in any case."

"That is for me to decide."

"No. It was for William. You are a stranger. I do not know you."

Elizabeth sat on the sofa and cried heartily. She remembered how William would touch and hold her the times she was scared or sad, and it made the tears come more furiously as that arrogant stranger who had coldly stolen William's body and place stared at her. The man she always turned to when in pain was the one causing her to hurt.

"Miss Elizabeth, this is pigheaded of you. Likely I still have a traitor in my house, and some detail you may give me will help me to discover if such a creature exists and who he is. I assure you, I honour my genuine obligations. You and your family will receive any reasonable reward desired. Theatrics are unnecessary, and beneath you as a gentlewoman."

"I don't want anything from you!"

Mr. Darcy pulled at his nose. It was one of William's habitual gestures, and seeing this stranger use it made her hurt.

Papa said in a conciliatory tone, "Forgive my daughter. She was deeply and genuinely attached to you — to William. I hoped seeing you would cure her of any expectation she still had."

"I am sure she was." Mr. Darcy looked her up and down with a skeptical stare. "Still, the heartbreak, if genuine, of a girl who'd been foolish enough to attach herself to an amnesiac can be of no concern to me. The entire situation is suspicious. You still hope for more than you can reasonably receive."

"I assure you, we do not wish anything from you. I am independent. The Bennets of Longbourn have long maintained our independence. We do not need your favors. I am here because my daughter wished to see you once more."

"Yes." He looked at the cleavage shown by the dress Mama had chosen. His eyes were empty. "She only wished to be seen by me. But I am made of tougher stuff than that. Your daughter is merely tolerable, and not nearly handsome enough to tempt me—"

"I did not choose this dress with any such thought in mind."

"Of course you did not so choose," he drawled dismissively. "Shall you help me discover if there is a traitor in my midst or will you attempt to hold the little information in your not-so-pretty head hostage on my promising a sufficiently large reward."

"Nothing — I want nothing! I only saw your enemy once. He was a charming and almost handsome gentleman with a—"

"So you did see Wickham."

"He wished to know about a lunatic who had escaped recently with a description that matched you."

Mr. Darcy stared at her. "Is that truly all you can tell me about my escape? Wickham is already dead, his description helps me none."

"I can tell you no more."

He waved his hand and turned away. "You hide something of moment. Until you reveal everything to me, I will give your family no reward."

Elizabeth squeezed her fist. She did not wish to cry again in front of him. "I do not want a reward from you."

"So you say. Your actions speak otherwise. I believe you knew all along who I was, but rather than returning me to my house immediately, so that my cure could be effected months earlier, you kept me with you until the amnesiac who was grateful to those who had taken him in had naturally formed an affection for the daughter of the house. Only when it was necessary that I be restored to my full knowledge so that a valid marriage could be contracted did you send me to London."

She stood. It was time to leave. William was dead, and she would mourn him on her own, in her own house. She needed to get away quickly.

William was dead.

Mr. Darcy approached, looming over her. "Is that not the case? Was that not the vile mercenary scheme you had in mind?"

She was not sure what she saw in his eyes when she stared at him. But all light was missing.

"And now you come here, in a whore's dress, making one last attempt to entrap me, and you pretend to not wish a reward so that I shall feel guilty for the poor heartbroken maiden who I'd led on. But everything, your grief, your affection, everything is a low, scheming act, and that—"

Crack.

Elizabeth had not even thought before slapping him. Her palm tingled and felt odd and pained from the strike. There was a pulsing in her hand that did not become less as the seconds passed. Rather it grew. Her bright red handprint was left on his face, and he stared at her with a new expression that lacked the sneer from before.

"You are not only not William! You are not even a gentleman."

Papa grabbed her wrist and pulled her away, toward the door. "I apologize, Mr. Darcy," he said. "I assure you my daughter's feelings are no act, and nothing but the strongest emotion would have brought her to forget herself so far as to strike at your person. Please forgive us both."

Papa bowed low, with a servile expression.

Mr. Darcy looked at her with that odd expression, but he said nothing. Elizabeth's hand continued to pulse in that strange and painful, yet almost pleasant manner. The red on his face had already faded back into the almost porcelain paleness of his skin.

With another bow Papa pulled her from the room.

What was this strange feeling?

Rather than pain at the slap, when her bare skin had touched his, Darcy felt better.

Like something was returning which had been missing. But it was a strange thing he could not understand. Seeing Miss Elizabeth — or was she only Elizabeth? Lizzy. He was a dear person, so he ought to call her Lizzy.

Fragments of images where her eyes were on his went through his head. It was like he was underwater in a deep dream, and in this distracted state, as something seemed to flow still between her hand and his cheek, he could not speak or even think.

Something was said, and Elizabeth was pulled from the room.

He should go after her and apologize. He did not understand what had led him to speak in such a way to her. It was as though he needed her angry enough to slap him.

Fitzwilliam Darcy shook away that odd thought. He heard again her last words. "You are not even a gentleman."

There was justice to her accusation. He should not have assumed she was lying. What was done was done. He owed the Bennet family a favor if they asked for one. They had not.

Yet instead of going back to his office to handle the matters of the day, Darcy smiled as his hand unconsciously rested over his struck cheek. And he felt a distant echo of sadness and heartbreak in his chest, as though it came from another person, and even though the emotion was terrible, that he could feel this echo of another person once more made some part of him happy and satisfied.

 **AN: Just putting it out as an announcement, I just released another book at Amazon, which is available to read, and awesome, in case any of you are interested, and want to support the author. It is in Kindle Unlimited, and is priced a dollar, or its equivalent, lower for an unspecified number of the next few days.**

 **Elizabeth's Refuge: Elizabeth thought she had killed her employer the Earl of Lachglass while defending herself from his vile advances. There was only one man in London to whom she could safely flee. The man whose proposal she had spurned years ago.**

 **Once they are reunited Elizabeth and Darcy's love blossoms.**

 **But the Earl of Lachglass survived, and he wants revenge...**


	32. Chapter 32

She was stupid.

Elizabeth knew that. It had been almost a full day now since that terrible meeting, and right now Mr. Darcy was being presented to the Prince Regent as the new master of Pemberley and head of the Darcy family.

But she imagined she felt him once more. There were hints of confusion, and hints of someone's presence that was not her own.

She was stupid. She'd believed in her soul that he could never be changed, but her William was gone, turned into that harsh, vile man.

But she couldn't stop herself.

He was being presented to the Prince Regent today, everyone in London knew that. So Elizabeth went to that hated house. She stood by the iron bars staring at the London palace of the Darcy family. He wasn't there to see how stupid she was. A large square surrounded the three-sided palace, as large as a full city block. She sat at one of the park benches and stared at the hated coat of arms.

There were versions of it everywhere. The flowers in the central garden were arranged into the Darcy arms, a lion feasting upon a dragon.

The gates had a heavy cast iron coat of arms, painted brilliantly. Another was above the house, and there even was a small version stamped into the iron of her bench.

Elizabeth only once glanced at the equestrian statue whose features looked so similar to her now disappeared William. William had not even died, in some way he had never existed, and that robbed her of the ability to grieve the way a girl could when her fiancé died. His body and mind had been stolen by that creature who had more right to them than William had himself.

The winter noon was cold and snow drifted slowly from the sky. Elizabeth still felt comfortable, one of the advantages of being a gentlewoman.

Even in the cold people constantly came and went around the square, half of them gentlemen and half women. Most did not stop to sit. Even if they could remain warm, it was draining to keep the temperatures pleasant around them.

A row of rings stood along the edges of the building, and as they pulled up, horsemen tied their horses to the rings, before they rushed into the tall marble-clad entryway to go about their business. At any time perhaps twenty animals stood tied to the walls. The poor animals stamped and puffed, great bursts of vapor being blown out by their bellows. Several young stable boys, wrapped up in big coats and looking comfortable despite the weather, walked about the horses, keeping an eye on them, and cleaning any droppings left by horses whose owners had not taken care to have a bag in place.

When carriages came to the square their owners left their vehicles along the packed street in front of the house. There was also a horse yard a few blocks away.

An enormous building. Important, crowded, busy.

Stupid.

She'd honestly believed that nothing could ever separate them. They were meant to be together. The phantom sense of their connection being almost there once more was only a terribly painful delusion and lie her mind told her because she didn't want to hurt so much.

She did hurt because William was gone.

She'd needed to come here. That feeling had pulled her here. Now she saw how pointless everything was.

A flurry of snow swept through the square, leaving Elizabeth unable to see those damned coats of arms. She wanted to feel cold and she willed her protective spell to drop so that the wind would blow through her. Now the snow landed in clumps on her dress, and Elizabeth shivered.

Tears fell from her eyes. She didn't want to cry here, in public, in front of his building. Angrily Elizabeth wiped at her face.

"You are a very pretty girl to look so lonesome."

Elizabeth startled and looked at the gentleman who'd spoken to her. Then her eyes widened and she recoiled. He wore a handsome colonel's uniform, but it was him. The man who had been searching for William when they escaped.

The scar was the same, the flirtatious manner was the same. Even though none of William's power still settled about him, Elizabeth could never forget that face. He was thin and worn, as though he was being eaten from inside.

"Do not look so frightened. I'll not hurt you. Are you pining for some lover? This is a very pretty park."

Elizabeth mutely shook her head. She hoped he would leave. There was no recognition in his eyes, and she couldn't summon the bravery to say anything. Perhaps if she did he would recognize her voice.

He patted her arm. "You need not fear me. This place is my responsibility." He gestured towards the gate and the coat of arms sitting atop it. "If there is any matter you need help with." He touched her arm again, and lightly stroked it. "I will happily help any girl as pretty as you."

Elizabeth shook her head again. The fear intensified as he touched her arm again and let his fingers linger. She was too frightened to feel the disgust and dirtiness from his touch and she recognized the demon in his magic, and now she was alone, and William was gone. He would see that she knew he was evil.

"Truly," he smiled easily, "I can aid you. I am Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, the steward of the Darcy family."

"No." The word was mumbled out, and Elizabeth was not sure if it was to his request or an exclamation of muted horror at the realization that William's enemy lived yet and was trusted by Fitzwilliam.

His hand briefly touched her forearm, and then he left, smiling once more. "If you ever should change your mind, do seek me out."

Elizabeth stared at the retreating form of the man, and her heart pounded.


	33. Chapter 33

"Papa! You must let me help him. You must, you must, you must."

Mr. Bennet watched his daughter's anguished face. He hoped after the disaster of seeing William — Mr. Darcy — in person, Elizabeth would mourn and let the wound of her broken heart heal.

Now this. She insisted the man who was Mr. Darcy's enemy had just told her he was Darcy's steward.

Mr. Bennet believed her. The story of her seeing this man had not been told to him before, but he'd always known William and Lizzy did not tell him everything.

Yesterday had hurt. Mr. Bennet had not expected to feel anything, because he knew what it would be like. But the shock when a man who wore a friend's face treated them so viciously, God, he still expected better from William — Mr. Darcy.

"Mr. Darcy has disclaimed any connection to us. We have no obligation to him." Mr. Bennet saw in his mind Mr. Darcy's contemptuous sneer. The way he'd held himself up, the way he had looked at Lizzy, his Lizzy, as though she was nothing after how she loved him and cared for him.

"It's still him—"

"Last night you admitted he was not."

"I must help him."

"He will not remember you, or love you again."

"I don't care."

"I care for the respectability of this family. Suppose, you are right, and the man hunting Mr. Darcy was this Colonel Fitzwilliam — how are you certain this Colonel Fitzwilliam is an enemy."

Lizzy stared agog at him.

Mr. Bennet smiled a little at her confusion. He held a hand up to forestall any retort. "Perhaps when you met him, Colonel Fitzwilliam searched as a friend for his cousin."

"I know he was an enemy. I could feel it."

"You let your feelings govern you too much. We are rational creatures — I at least. You've not been rational of late. There always was a stink of foul mysticism in you—"

"Papa!"

"—if you wish men to take you seriously, be serious yourself. This is why women have no great place in government. Things go poorly when they are raised too high, like those years with Queen Mary, or what happened when the king in France took his wife's advice."

"I—" Lizzy almost danced in frustration. He saw her desperation; she had to warn William of what she was quite certain was an enemy. She would not be put her off by his skepticism. But he needed to tell her how she was being a fool. Perhaps in the future she would begin thinking again. She was as clever as any man. Cleverer even.

Besides Lizzy would be suspicious if he capitulated to her begging too quickly.

"Let us go over the evidence once more: You felt he was an enemy?" Mr. Bennet raised his eyebrows high in the most scathing manner he could manage. Lizzy steadily met his gaze.

"Give me a better reason for your certainty this Fitzwilliam is evil?"

Lizzy bit her lip. "It makes no sense that he would hunt for William if he was not the enemy. The Darcys had lost their prince years ago and found nothing of him."

"You do not know what the Darcy family knew. Perhaps the event which put Mr. Darcy at his liberty without his memory left some magical tremor which told his clan to look for him." Mr. Bennet added with a real bitterness in his voice. "I wish you had not deceived this Colonel. Darcy could have been with his own people all that time, and none of these emotions that are ruining you would have bothered our home."

"Papa! Don't say such things—"

"Lizzy, I was a fool to allow him to stay with us at all. I was a fool to bring you to meet him here in London. I shall not be a grand enough fool to indulge your obsession further."

"We are connected. William and I, there is — was — a connection between us—"

"You are nothing to him. I heard Mr. Darcy's words, even if you wish to ignore them now. You slapped him for them when he spoke. No friend, no one but such a grand careless gentleman would ever speak so. I wish you had never met him."

"Colonel Fitzwilliam is evil. He has a demon in him and—"

"A demon! You now sense demons?" The dry tone was more disbelieving and sarcastic than before. Only a gentleman with the training of a clergyman could sense them when they were hidden. His daughter could not — no woman could.

His Lizzy was delusional. It scared him. It made him sick. She had a strong mind, but she was also desperately passionate. She had never shown the slightest sign of love before, and William's…loss was breaking her. Like she'd been broken by her delusions once before. He thought from how she spoke they were returning. She now connected William to that imaginary man she had hallucinated as a child.

"I did! I — my connection to William. It let me sense the demon."

"Lizzy. Reason. Science. If you want me to listen to you, drop this mysticism. You are looking for an excuse to re-enter Mr. Darcy's life by accusing his greatest counselor, his cousin, of betraying him. This shall not work. I am afraid. You sound as though you have begun to hallucinate again. I will have Mr. Kuipers examine you again before we return.

Lizzy paled.

"William…you said it yesterday. He is dead. Your grief is hurting you. Please, please, please. Lizzy…I…I don't want to see you bled again."

She breathed shallowly, not looking at him.

Now was the time to bend. But Mr. Bennet felt sick, because his daughter was sick, and until she accepted that William was gone, she would keep becoming sicker, but accepting it might also injure her. "Lizzy, what do you wish to do to warn Mr. Darcy?"

She looked up with surprise in her eyes.

"It…is possible you are right. About Colonel Fitzwilliam being Mr. Darcy's enemy. Mr. Darcy should know what you said."

"You mean that? If I tell him I know who the traitor is, that will get me an audience, and—"

"Lizzy!" His daughter looked at him, almost panting with worry for William, her clear eyes wide. Mr. Bennet loved her, and he would protect her, even from herself. "You cannot go in person. You need to separate yourself from him, for your own sake. And instead of trusting you, he would think you sought another opportunity to seduce him. I will send a letter to Mr. Darcy, and he will have been warned. If it comes from me, as a man explaining the matter, he will take the information more seriously."

"William will not take you more seriously only because you are a man."

"God!" Mr. Bennet slammed his fist on his desk. He wiped at his forehead. "Lizzy. William is gone. Dead. Disappeared."

Lizzy broke into tears, and though it needed to be said, Mr. Bennet felt like a brute. He went around the desk and pulled Elizabeth up so he could embrace her.

"I am so, so, so…" Mr. Bennet did not know any words to comfort her. He had never loved the way Lizzy loved William. "I hate that I was right."

"I love him so much. I thought…it was fate, destiny, that nothing, nothing but death could ever go wrong. It would be easier if he was dead. Or if I was."

Mr. Bennet's chest hurt for his dear child. He kissed her on the forehead. She should never say such things. But shouting that at her would not help. He held her while she sobbed into his coat.

After a few minutes Lizzy wiped her eyes and then hugged him.

"Thank you, Papa." She hugged him and then went to the heavy oak door that led out of Mr. Gardiner's parlor. She smiled at him with a half real show of humor. "Write that letter quickly. I know your habits."

Mr. Bennet smiled a little, happy Lizzy was, for a little while, more cheerful. "Before the evening is out." She raised her eyebrows with her own skeptical look.

He smiled mildly back at her and pulled out his box of snuff from the inside of his coat. As he put a pinch of ground tobacco on his finger and thumb, he added, "You have so little trust in me."

Lizzy laughed wetly. Mr. Bennet removed the ink pot from the drawer and set up the supplies so he could write. Instead of leaving, Lizzy sat down in one of the airy sprigged yellow chairs Mrs. Gardiner favored.

Mr. Bennet sighed. He'd expected he would need to go through the farce of writing a letter for Lizzy's examination. He did so, explaining everything Elizabeth had told him, but writing it in a sarcastic and doubting manner.

After a quarter of an hour he called out to Lizzy, "Almost finished."

Mr. Bennet scratched out the last line. He dipped the pen in the ink a final time and signed his name with a flourish across the bottom. Mr. Bennet picked up the page and waved the paper back and forth to dry the ink. He held it out for Lizzy to take and read. "Sufficient?"

Lizzy scanned the page he had written. She smiled a little, but he could tell a somber mood was on her again. It was natural for her to grieve. "You insult my evidence at length."

Mr. Bennet shrugged. "I have done a service for you."

Lizzy kissed him on the forehead. "I know, Papa. Thank you."

"Yes. Yes." He took the sheet of paper back. "Let me prepare it to be mailed off. Do not worry about the post taking too long, I'll find one of those messenger boys to run it over to Mr. Darcy's palace immediately. Satisfied, Lizzy?"

She nodded and left the room.

Mr. Bennet removed his spectacles and covered his eyes with his hand.

He had no choice. Lizzy had a good head on her shoulders. It didn't entirely matter how she had arrived at this judgement: if she was convinced Colonel Fitzwilliam was an enemy of Mr. Darcy, he probably was.

Mr. Bennet picked up the note and walked to the fireplace, scanning the lines which showed his skepticism the most clearly. He hated lying to her.

He stared for a long time at the dancing flames and then put the letter onto the wood. It took but a moment to catch flame, and within seconds the paper had turned into a burnt unrecognizable crisp. Mr. Bennet took the poker from the side, and stirred the ashes about to ensure that every scrap of paper was consumed and there was no sign left of the letter.

The first duty of a head of house was to the family lineage. Always. If Colonel Fitzwilliam learned Lizzy suspected him, he would kill her, and possibly kill them all simply to be sure. This was the case even if he was completely innocent of the assault on his master. A man in that position was far greater than them.

Mr. Bennet knew Colonel Fitzwilliam was himself a scion of another important family, though one less grand than the Darcys. These were all great aristocrats, and dealings with them were not a matter for small gentlemen. If Mr. Darcy had remembered Elizabeth…

Mr. Bennet was glad he did not.

Those who played high games fell and broke their necks. Mr. Darcy would probably be killed despite his miraculous escape from his first defeat. After all the enemy he had destroyed was not his only enemy.

Mr. Bennet opened the door and walked into the hallway. Lizzy stood out there with shining eyes. She quickly embraced him again. "I know you think I am being unreasonable, but, Papa, thank you."

He kissed her on the forehead. Mr. Gavin, Gardiner's butler, helped him put his coat and hat on. "Off to mail your letter. I hope nothing bad will come of it."

He left through the door and walked into the freezing rain.

Most likely a letter would not even have been read by Mr. Darcy. He would have his steward, or housekeeper, or some secretary look at mail from those he was not closely associated to. A great man of his sort received a great deal of correspondence. There would be some process to make sure he was not bothered by the hoi polloi.

Even if Mr. Darcy read the letter, he would not believe Elizabeth. Not after what he had said about the Bennet family. He would think they were engaged in a last desperate bid to take advantage of the situation and connection.

Sending no message was the only reasonable and responsible action. A woman, even one as clever as Lizzy, had no business making decisions of family policy.

Mr. Bennet felt as though he was betraying that friendly and kind young man who so earnestly had wished to marry Lizzy. But that man was gone.


	34. Chapter 34

He was trapped.

That sweet presence connected to his soul worried and fought to rescue him. The darkness continued, warping him and suffocating him. But the presence grew closer and warmer. A face came into his dream: Mrs. Gardiner. _You are no gentleman. You cannot keep promises._

 _I am a gentleman. I am a gentleman. I am the greatest of gentlemen._

The woman in his dream sneered at him. _You cannot remember the debts you owe._

 _I am a gentleman. I am a gentleman._

 _Remain in darkness!_

The dark. It returned. But there was no magical bond to anyone.

With a gasp Darcy awoke.

Light barely leaked around the edges of his curtains. In a desperate convulsive movement he tried to feel the connection. To prove it was just a dream and it was still there.

He could. He felt the connection.

No such thing should exist. But he remembered. How had he forgotten? He had forgotten. There had been a connection that should not exist. He'd always felt it, since he was very young. A vague thing. A girl…

Or was he inventing a memory? Such a thing should not be possible. Neither the invention of a memory, the loss of memory, nor such a connection. None possible.

Darcy's dream faded not away. He remembered Mrs. Gardiner. She was a real person. The too sharp woman who never trusted him.

Who had been right to never trust him.

Darcy pushed himself up from the clutching bed. He did not want to sleep in this room again. Then perhaps the nightmares would cease. Darcy threw upon the heavy velvet curtains, and then he opened the windows, letting in the freezing air of the clear cold day.

Snow stood upon the mountains and fields. Below him grew the eternally warm gardens of Pemberley. The orange and apple trees were heavy with fruit. Exotic varieties of grapes and fig trees, and a coffee plant, and brightly flowering plants from a tropical paradise, with blooms a foot wide.

A few of his people sat in the garden, showing that it was not a waste, not an extravagance, since it was open to the enjoyment of all.

The light had barely risen, and he must start work in just a few minutes.

There was so much that required the hand of the master to repair. He'd pulled on the ley lines of Pemberley to restore the flows of potentia from the house to seventeen fields yesterday. It was a work he was very good at, and which only Georgiana could do very well also.

Wickham had completely ceased the necessary outflows, not understanding how the health of the population fed back into the health of the house and its riches of power.

Darcy spent hours every day reviewing the decisions of Wickham over the past years with Richard. Richard had a harsh view of the world. Perhaps Darcy had made the wrong choice to make him the steward, certainly Darcy did not trust Richard's instincts about who to support or how to provide aid.

The resources of the house were weakened. Wickham had played at being steward, but he never seriously cared what happened.

Before he'd returned to London, the prospect of such days drained and exhausted him. Now he felt invigorated, and capable of taking anything on. It was his duty, and there was a joy in work for the benefit of his people.

The memories had crowded upon him over the past days, at increasing speed. He could no longer pretend they should not matter. It was this feeling of an impossible connection that made him feel whole again.

A foreign presence had invaded his mind and demanded that he change, and act out its will. It became harder each day not to drop every important concern and ride to Hertfordshire to find that girl.

He was Darcy.

Waffling and indecision were beneath him.

Darcy sat at the elaborate desk in the corner of his room. Both he and his father had always kept a set of well-maintained desks in each room they regularly used, so there would be no need to delay between decision and action. Darcy wrote:

 _Mr. Roberts_

 _I find myself in need of your expertise once more. I wish to consult you about the return of what possibly are my memories of the intervening time. I fear I have been ensorcelled in a strange manner by the Bennet girl. I need your aid again to remove a compulsion. Come immediately and with all speed._

 _Fitzwilliam Darcy_

Darcy pressed his signet ring into the bottom of the page. This was a matter worth the use of this power. He closed his eyes and drew upon the ley lines. A laboriously constructed, yet tenuous connection to the house in London existed. Even channeled along this path, the power required to send a message across the hundreds of miles in an instant was enormous.

Darcy had waited too long already to address this threat to his very being.

For a moment the letter was not a letter, but a concept entangled with the entirety of the universe, propelled by the power of Pemberley directed by Darcy's will through something which was not space. Then it materialized upon a desk in Darcy's house in London.

Mr. Roberts should be present by tomorrow evening.

He would confirm the obvious: Miss Bennet had wished to meet him and then slap him so she could lay an enchantment upon him that required touch. He'd felt nothing of the sort, of course, and it shocked him that such an unsophisticated family had access to a working that would act through his always maintained defenses.

Darcy was scared.

He was scared that it all was true. If these memories were true, he had acted in the worst imaginable manner. As one who was not a gentleman and who had failed to remember his debts.

He needed Roberts's help to understand how she had ensorcelled him. Darcy had learned his lesson: Anyone could be a traitor, anyone might have a powerful tool to strike at him. He only relaxed in his private study in the warded depths of the house that could only be accessed by one of Darcy blood.

Everywhere else he needed to be ready for some attack.

Darcy pulled those magical defenses into himself. He hardened his skin against mundane attacks. He connected himself to the house so that he could divert any strike at his soul into the mighty magic of the house. He prepared himself for some sudden attack that he did not believe would come, but he needed to be ready for.

Then Darcy left the room and called his valet.


	35. Chapter 35

The following morning Darcy rode out with Georgiana. He did every day.

She was his blood, and though they had been parted for many years, the deep family affection remained and grew tighter each day.

Darcy was desperately happy that his sister yet loved him, and that despite the absence of his guiding hand, she had grown into a sweet and clever woman.

Today he took her north, to a place of memory. The day was grey with a cold sharp wind, much like the weather that day Wickham attacked him. They traveled at a fast trot, their horses' legs breaking through the snow upon the fields.

Thrice they passed men in the fields or upon the roads, who when they saw the lord of the house with his sister and a following of guardsmen cheered. "Our prince returned! Our prince returned!"

How long would it be until his tall horsed form was familiar to his people again?

They rode their fine horses up to the old hill in the middle of a small coppiced wood that had been the boyhood haunt of Darcy and his companions.

They stopped in a clearing atop the hill. A most familiar clearing. Darcy had only once visited this clearing since he had returned to Pemberley. To see if any clues to his attack remained.

None did.

Fifteen retainers followed Darcy and Georgiana at a respectful distance. They were allowed to bear arms within England while under the banner of the Darcy house by the dispensation granted by Charles II upon his restoration, and confirmed by William IV upon his ascension, and then each Hanoverian king since.

A bitter taste fouled Darcy's mouth, as his eyes traveled around this familiar clearing. His childhood friendship with Wickham had been a lie.

"Such a pretty place — I know this well." Georgiana leaned forward on her horse and smiled at Darcy, her eyes dancing. "Brother, is it a favorite of yours?"

How to reply to such a question. Darcy quirked his mouth. "I no longer know — once it was, but no longer."

"I understand." Georgiana looked around, her eyes too seeing something not there, as Darcy's did. "This clearing was a favorite of Mr. Wickham's."

"You often rode with him to here?"

"He is dead, deservedly so. I must bury him."

Darcy leaped lightly from his horse. He walked over to the old fire ring, where they had played highwaymen. Wickham, himself, Richard, Richard's sister and elder brother, and Lady Catherine's son Anthony. A close group.

The stones were covered in snow, but with a gesture Darcy cleared the area around the fire ring, to display the deep black stains in the granite rocks and the brown ground.

"We played here." Darcy picked up one of the heavy stones and smoothed some of the black ash off with his glove before setting it back into its place. "We pretended to be spies encamped against a French army, or highwaymen, pirates burying treasure. Many games of children. Wickham was a delight. Though his birth was lower, he seemed to belong among us."

Georgiana placed her hand upon Darcy's arm. "I cared for him deeply too."

Darcy saw again, fresh as a month ago, Wickham's eyes blazing as they spoke upon this hill. But the detail of their conversation was fragmented, unpresent.

"Here. Right here. He attacked me here."

"How did he defeat you? I do not recall clearly from before — you always seemed golden and proud, but so did Wickham. Today, I know enough to recognize your strength. It is great. Far more than Wickham's ever could have been."

"My memory of the conversation is muddled — I have studied matters of memory. A blow to the head can prevent us from fully forming the memories, even though we are gentlemen. That knowledge did not return with the rest. But…" Darcy lowered his voice. He did not glance at his men. He trusted them. But he still brought upon them both a working which would keep his voice from carrying to any but his sister.

The one person in his domains he could trust entirely. "There must be another traitor. Wickham could not have defeated me, not even on prepared death ground."

Georgiana paled. But she stood admirably under the information. "Such has been my suspicion. But who?"

"I know not. There are many who could. Such is why I travel with men about me everywhere outside my rooms. Such is why I guard myself from all, no matter how close, but you. Yet, I did not guard myself sufficiently. I believe even so an enemy struck at me recently. I have called Mr. Roberts to aid me in that matter. He shall arrive this evening."

"You have been struck by a curse!" Georgiana paled. "You must be safe. You must — I could not bear to lose you again. I missed you. With Mrs. Reynolds and others of the staff, I prayed for your safe return every day. And now — do not tell me you are in danger once more."

"I am always in danger." The cold snow and bare branches stood stark all about them. Icy patches crunched under their boots. The frozen winter air burned at Darcy's nostrils, and he expelled gusts of air warmed by his lungs with each breath.

Darcy smiled at Georgiana. "This is not a matter in which you must fear for me. The injury is modest."

"Fitzwilliam?"

"I no longer can trust my mind completely."

"Your mind? — when? Tell me how, in what manner? I am your sister, if I can help you in any way… we are both Darcy, spread your burden to me."

"The woman who I had been resident with — her father I mean. I resided with the house while unknowing of myself. She…she found a means to touch my skin… And since I have felt different. I have felt compelled towards her. While in London this occurred."

There was a slight smile on Georgiana's face, showing she found this idea quite amusing in a way. "Fitzwilliam, there could be a benign explanation… one that might explain your better mood since you have returned. In just what manner did she…touch you?"

Darcy ground his teeth together. "I am not in love. I am not. I will not be and I am not. Not such a person. No."

Georgiana tilted her head. "You feel strongly. I heard the family was far beneath our place, but… you owe them greatly. If you do feel something, developed when you did not recall yourself — I am only happy to see you returned. We all are. You could not choose unwisely."

"The deuce. I am ensorcelled. No natural feeling do I have."

Georgiana pressed her hand worriedly against her cheek. "She, her family, they cannot be your enemy. You were vulnerable without knowing yourself, and yet you were sent back to us."

"I am myself!" Darcy looked at the sky, at the grey clouds. At his sister, whose pale skin had whitened further at this uncontrolled display. Who was he? Darcy spoke slowly, over articulating the words. "I am not who they wished to form me into. Mr. Roberts will excise from my mind any attachment towards Elizabeth. Whatever affection remains will be removed."

Georgiana blinked. "I have read terrible stories about such attempts to control the heart."

Darcy did not speak. While many educated gentlemen sneered at stories and myths, the Darcys knew better. There was power and lessons in such stories which ought not be ignored by a wise gentleman.

"You were pleased to see this woman. Admit it to yourself. How did you allow her to touch you?" Georgiana blushed. "I know it can be no very intimate matter, as you are a man of honour."

"I…" Darcy flushed. "It is no matter. Elizabeth's touch was a scheme to strike through my defenses, though it ought not have worked."

"Your defenses are impregnable to mere touch. You know that."

"Yet I now remember things. I now remember feelings, and desires. And I will not let them control me."

Georgiana tilted her head, and a gust of wind rustled her hair. "You are certain such feelings are from outside you? That to remove such is a correct decision?"

"What decision otherwise could I make?"

"Your happiness. Since you returned from London… More comfortable. You have been happier. At first — when you embraced me before there was something cold in you. As though a part of your essence had not returned with your body. But now it has returned."

Darcy shivered, though his magic protected him from the cold. He remembered that emptiness. He was not surprised his sister had recognized his damaged state. She was wise in many ways, despite her youth and her training by Wickham.

"It is so strange after so many years." Darcy looked from this hill, this hill where he had faced Wickham on a similarly cold day. He looked upon the glowing windows of Pemberley, and the green gardens, kept warm by the flows of magic through the house, like the garden he and Elizabeth had constructed once — but was that a true memory? Did it matter?

Georgiana looked solemnly at the house as well. "We have a grand duty." She then smiled at him. "And you are the one who shall principally bear it. None better than you."

"You expected to rule. Do you have a sense of injury you shall not?"

"Not at all. George…that is Mr. Wickham…" Georgiana shuddered. "I always knew there was something wrong. Deep down, but it was a feeling hard to specify, easy to ignore. I am not wise. I am not capable as you."

"You are a Darcy, that makes you wise. You would have ruled us well, because you are of the blood."

"Blood cannot guarantee wisdom." Georgiana rolled her eyes. "We named Wickham as our steward. His blood was good and trusted — Richard was wise. He never trusted Wickham."

Darcy frowned. He tapped his foot on the snow, smoothing it away to reach the frozen ground. The girl in his memories habitually tapped her foot when anxious or impatient. The deuce. He would not fidget in addition to calling potentia magic. All this would be removed. It would all be well. "Richard is wise in his own ways, but not in every matter. He is too hard."

"He saved my life. That hardness allowed him to do such."

Something was strange about Richard. This had nagged at Darcy since he saw Richard kill Wickham. Most likely he should not have placed a tormented veteran of many wars who radiated menace in a position of civilian authority. But there was something more.

"He did, but while he must have a position of great honour, responsibility, and even comfort, I was mistaken to replace Wickham with him. He is Fitzwilliam in his mind, not Darcy. Not like you and me."

"But our most dedicated friend — he always counseled me to beware Wickham."

Darcy shrugged. He needed to examine his thoughts upon Richard. He would not act as Georgiana had, ignoring the feeling that something was amiss. But he would not on such a subtle thing speak against the man to his sister. She had so much of her life turned awry in the past few weeks.

A light snow fell from the grey sky, blowing white flakes into their faces. Darcy looked back to his retainers watching from a respectful distance, keeping their eyes professionally upon hills and trees around them, in case of an attack.

Darcy put his hand upon her shoulder. "Come. The time has come for us to return home. I have much work."

She walked with a pensive frown to where one of their men held both her horse and Darcy's by their halters. She smiled at the man and put her hand on the soft brown coat of the horse's shoulder.

Darcy took hold of the halter of his horse. "Speak what is upon your mind."

"I believe you are mistaken to mistrust whatever memories and affections return to you. What you plan does not seem…wise."

"I am myself. Not wise, myself."

"You fear losing yourself? But you are always who you are. Such is not possible. I worry for you."

"I know what I do." Darcy mounted the firm saddle, and he pressed his stirrups into the flanks of his magnificent stallion. They galloped back to the warm gleaming manor house of Pemberley.


	36. Chapter 36

Damnation! Damn and damn and damn.

Colonel Fitzwilliam clutched at his chest as the pain ripped through the lining between his lungs and his heart. It burned in his chest, making him feel as though he'd inhaled burning smoke and ash again, like at Salamanca.

Damnation.

The demon inside lashed at him. Wrathful and emaciated. Needing to feed, and the only potentia came from his host. The last time he had fed the demon well was that Spanish girl after the sack of Madrid.

Colonel Fitzwilliam had thought he could feed the infernal creature once more now that he held the stewardship of Pemberley. So much power flowed through the house, he could easily divert a few sips so that the demon would not gnaw him in its desperation.

His damned cousin was too observant. Too careful. Too damned full of himself, like every Darcy.

He obsessively watched over his house and the resources of his clan. And he flooded every resource he could into providing little pleasures and supports for the peasants. An old Darcy practice neglected by Wickham.

If only Darcy would contemplate higher magical theory or attend endless parties and hunts, like most great gentlemen. Then Colonel Fitzwilliam would be free to leave him alone.

Not that he would have in the end. Ambition prick'd him forward.

The demon made him feel as though his fingernails were being burnt off and there was a distinct sensation of flesh melting. It took all Colonel Fitzwilliam's considerable willpower to keep from looking to confirm his fingers remained. Excited by what he read in Fitzwilliam's thoughts, the demon added the smell of burnt flesh to the illusion.

Usually the unholy thing lacked creativity, but the creature had become hungry and desperate. So close to so much power, but unable to jointly feed. With the ley lines his demon could become great amongst his kind, and rise many levels in the infernal hierarchy once he was released by Colonel Fitzwilliam's death from the joint bondage.

Damnation.

His chest hurt. Colonel Fitzwilliam smiled sardonically as he rested for a moment against one of the marble pilasters in the great hallway of the house. That word. Damnation.

He had accepted damnation for temporal power, and now he paid with pain.

At least Darcy trusted him.

He'd hoped to wait longer and see if Darcy would relax his vigilance. It would not be good for the reputation of the clan to mysteriously lose its leader again in such a short period of time.

He had no choice. He would kill Darcy within the next days. Alas, sad cousin.

The smell of burnt human flesh had gone away, leaving just a faint stink. The demon was satisfied because Colonel Fitzwilliam had decided to kill Darcy now. His demon was a fool who loved blood too much.

Colonel Fitzwilliam reached the grand stairs and climbed them a little slowly, feeling jerky spasms of pain from his chest.

His suite of rooms had a balcony overlooking the courtyard, filled with green trees and grasses. The courtyard had been charmed to stay warm no matter what the environment around it was like. It was always filled with the small people, instead of being kept private for the Lord and his guests the way Fitzwilliam's father kept his mansion.

He could not strike Darcy successfully while he defended himself. Yet he had no path into Darcy's inner chambers where the man would be vulnerable.

There was something frightening about how powerful Darcy had become.

There had been scientific experimentation by dark wizards who would share their findings with selected apprentices in exchange for grand favors. When a man was drained to feed a demon, he would usually dwindle into a husk within a year's time. Darcy, of powerful blood, and connected to Pemberley, would not dwindle so fast. But he should have dwindled.

Darcy's flow of potentia had grown year by year. Colonel Fitzwilliam had strengthened greatly the wards about him, out of fear of such power, even though he could not imagine how the wasted man could use it to escape.

How did he escape?

The uncanny unnerved Colonel Fitzwilliam.

But he was not unmanned. Richard Fitzwilliam was no coward, he was no callow man to be overawed by wide flows of potentia. He was a man of war who had killed many hundreds and defeated aristocrats of grand blood and smeared their noble entrails over the field of combat.

He would kill Darcy, somehow.


	37. Chapter 37

Darcy glared at the physician until his gaze flinched away. "Mr. Roberts, you will utter your every doubt and hesitation. You will speak all thoughts that lead your reasoning. You will not assume your education grants you understandings I cannot understand. You have expertise and knowledge I lack. But I trust not your judgement."

The physician was pale, but he nodded.

"Your oath. Place your hand on my ring. Open yourself. Swear you will seek to have me understand the issues as correctly and thoroughly as you do."

"Th-that may be impossible."

"I do not ask you to promise that I will understand, just that you will seek, as a goal which you care for as much as my receiving the treatment you think best, that I understand."

Mr. Roberts's face froze.

"Now! Promise, or begone."

Mr. Roberts shivered. "I can seek your understanding. It will be strange to act so." He placed his hand upon Darcy's signet ring. The ring shaped the flow of potentia and then Mr. Roberts's will was bound as he intoned the oath, "I will seek to make you understand all matters as fully and completely as I do."

Darcy nodded. The use of an oath ring was as much a matter of theater to make clear to Mr. Roberts how serious he was as it was a matter of substance. In popular knowing, and not only that of commoners, but among the lower orders of gentlemen who never had occasion to depend upon such things, loyalty compulsions were all powerful. They could drive people into evil situations and be cause for terrible tragedies.

It was always possible for a compulsion to be subverted.

That was the first thing Darcy's father had taught him about the web of oaths the family could call upon. Betrayal became more difficult, and a retainer could not violate the will of his master without awareness. The attempt to subvert a compulsion often left traces which made it easier to discover betrayal. Incompetent betrayers sometimes could not subvert well written oaths.

Such men were useless in other matters as well. An oath was no better than the man who made it.

Mr. Roberts stepped away from Darcy once his oath was completed. He wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. "Well…" Mr. Roberts stammered. Darcy could see that he was used to being in control of his patients, and the usual script had been broken. "Sir, I am, and I always have been devoted to your interests."

"I am glad. I shall need your loyalty and honesty."

"What brings you to believe you have been ensorcelled? What memories are you recalling — I will reserve judgement until I have heard all you say. Mr. Bennet and Miss Elizabeth — they are very kind. They have neither the malice nor the capacity to do what you suggest. Please, sir, explain."

"Some tie. Always there! I do not know if the feelings or knowledge it gives me have any truth, but I am always aware of her as a person, as though we are connected despite the distance."

"A tie?" Mr. Roberts tilted his head. He showed less surprise than he should have. "It connects to Miss Elizabeth?"

"When she touched me — the damned hoyden slapped me when we met." Despite the insult to his person, he admired her for slapping him. He admired the fire in her whether she slapped him as a trick to place a working upon him or simply as an expression of hurt and anger.

"Hmmm." That damned doctor's noncommittal expression, the one which suggested the doctor was bored and had figured out everything (except doctors were always wrong) and he wished the gentleman who was too important to silence would stop talking.

"Explain your thoughts."

"I am yet gathering understanding. How does this bond make you feel?"

"It makes me feel… Before I felt wrong. There had been an ache in something that cannot feel, but which can be felt. The ache is no longer present. As if a gaping wound in my soul healed. The feeling is…beautiful. My memories, the fragments that bubble up from my dreams make me wish to trust this, and to believe that she…"

Mr. Roberts had a guilty expression, as he looked at the carved feet of Darcy's desk.

"You know something."

"I suspect… I discovered something within your pathways. A connection to something outside of you. But it was tied to the suppression of your memories, and when I snapped it, your memories returned immediately. I thought it not a good thing for the head of my family to have such a mysterious power connecting him to some unknown person."

"You told me nothing of this."

"You did not return for an additional examination, despite my strong request while you were in London."

"The deuce! It is not my place to serve you, but yours to serve me. I should have been told immediately that I'd been connected to an outsider. I would have protected myself better."

"It hardly seemed—" Mr. Roberts stopped speaking. He bowed his head, looking at Darcy's feet. "My Lord, I apologize, I will inform you of everything. It was a thoughtless mistake to not speak of it then."

"Damned physician. Like the men who could not cure my father." The hopping fire in his grate crackled like Darcy's anger, begging to consume and expand. "A deep working that still was present in me. She had already created the working. It existed beneath my defenses. That was why she could bring it back with a touch."

"Mr. Darcy, I observed Miss Elizabeth closely, and I have known her father for many years. They have no malicious aims towards you."

"You are not a man who can judge the intentions of outsiders towards this family. No policy. They have greedy intentions, not malicious. Examine me again. Is this connection reestablished?"

Mr. Roberts had Darcy sit down. He then weaved his hands, having the gates in his fingers open, to connect and shape the delicate information seeking spell. Darcy felt the spell poke and prod his being. He allowed the tendrils of foreign magic to suffuse their way into his body and through the pathways of his being. However, he remained tense to expel them at an instant.

A vivid memory: Elizabeth's potentia pressing into him. Into where the weakened gates had made it pool up into aching, painful puddles. She absorbed his magic and hers had not felt foreign. She felt like another part of his own being.

That never really happened. Not that way. Darcy clung to that belief. It was some implanted memory, designed to control him.

Her blood uncle was a tradesman. Her father's holdings were tiny. She intended to control him.

Georgiana had said he was unwise.

"The flow is returned." Mr. Roberts's voice interrupted Darcy's thoughts. "Far thinner and weaker than before, but present."

Darcy had known that already.

"I was precipitate. It was a mistake to cut it. Not when I did not understand. This connection is rooted deeply in your being. Far deeper than I'd realized. If I…severed it again…I fear for your health. You said you felt…empty. This connection draws from your soul. This is no normal working, and—"

"The working must be entirely uprooted, however deep it is lodged."

"Mr. Darcy, that would be ill-advised. As a physician—"

"Damnation! I will not be controlled by a damned peasant girl pretending to be gentlewoman. She made me remember these things! They are not real!"

Mr. Roberts swallowed. "What do you remember?"

"If it were true, I would have a debt beyond any paying. We all would have. It is a lie. Or a—"

"A lie?" Mr. Roberts's face lost its paleness and he tilted his head in thought. With new animation he said, "I can discover for you if the memories you have are true. Perhaps I can bring them all back to you at once. If you know they are true memories—"

"A game. A trick. Even if the memories are real, the events could be lies."

"Why are you so frightened?"

"Because if I have done… No. You are not here to counsel me. You are not my reverend. You are not my father. You are not my advisor. You are a physician."

"Illnesses in the mind often require advice and counsel. Do you wish to know the memories?"

"Remove the connection. The whole working should be gone."

Mr. Roberts sat down in the red velvet armchair across from Darcy. He frowned for a long time. At last he pulled out his handkerchief again and wiped his forehead. "I cannot. The working goes too deep, but you can remove it yourself. If you explore and understand the working, you will be able to remove the foreign influence from your mind yourself. You must go deep into yourself and examine your own magical being and soul."

"How?" This was what he needed. A way to remove the guilt he did not deserve to feel.

"Meditation. An Oriental technique. I oft find it useful for my patients. You must empty your mind of everything — this is difficult and it may take much practice to become skilled enough at doing so. Then follow this flow, tie, connection, bond. You will see yourself where it leads. Once you fully see its whole nature, you will be able to tear it out with your will."

"What do you not wish to say?"

"I am quite willing to say it. I already have. This tie goes too deep in your soul. It is part of you, not a working constructed by a young woman to manipulate you. It is something different, something beyond what my science can understand. A mystery — perhaps one day understandable, but not as yet. When you perceive it fully, you will not wish to remove the connection..."

"I will not be controlled! I am myself! I am this me. Not that version of myself."

"Follow these instructions." Mr. Roberts conjured into his hand a small book. "Go to your warded rooms for safety as you do this. You will not be able to maintain your own protections as you meditate."

"You shall remain at Pemberley for me to ask for advice until I have succeeded." Darcy snarled, "I will not be controlled."

He felt good when he sat upon his chair in his inner rooms. He felt in control. The instructions were simple, focus upon the flow of magic — potentia — within your being. Feel it ebbing and flowing with the breath. When any thought came, let it fade away. Darcy felt right as he began to clear his mind.

The compulsion would be removed, and he would be only himself when it was done.

He would know what Elizabeth Bennet had truly done to him, and he would know how to revenge himself upon her.


	38. Chapter 38

Richard frightened Georgiana, even though she trusted him.

He had saved her life. He was a great war hero, one of Wellington's chief men in Spain. He had always counseled her against the infatuation she felt towards Wickham.

Georgiana trusted him.

But he frightened her.

She had no choice. She was scared for Fitzwilliam, and she needed to help him.

Fitzwilliam had retreated to his chambers the previous afternoon, following his consultation with Mr. Roberts. Now morning had come. And Fitzwilliam had not left his rooms.

It was a mistake. Fitzwilliam's plan was a mistake. Georgiana knew it. She had asked Mr. Roberts about the Bennet family, especially Miss Bennet — the girl Fitzwilliam referred to as Elizabeth.

Elizabeth was no evil sorceress who used dark magic from a story to entrap her brother. She was a good woman who had helped her brother when he was alone, and who Georgiana was sure had a sincere and deep affection for him. Georgiana had barely come to know Fitzwilliam again, but she was sure that anyone connected to Fitzwilliam would come to have a sincere and deep affection for him.

Whatever had happened when Elizabeth touched her brother had made Fitzwilliam happier.

Georgiana wanted him to be happy — and to be a good ruler of the house. She had been trained well enough to know that was of the greatest importance also. But happiness would help him rule more than a highborn wife.

The Darcys stood tall, princes in their own land. They did not need to grow their power through marriages with lesser houses, and they did not wish deeper alliance with the few houses who could stand in equality.

Fitzwilliam did not choose right when he sought to remove his natural attachment to this girl. Georgiana needed to stop him.

But he had not listened to her. Fitzwilliam was so proud. He would listen to very few persons once his mind was established.

The only person she could think of who Fitzwilliam might listen to was Richard.

Georgiana lightly stepped through the warm hallways of Pemberley to the public section where the offices of the steward and the other officials who needed to daily deal with the public were.

No one else was with Richard when she entered the room.

He sat in his chair and breathed in pained wheezes. He'd grown thin and grim over the past six months. It scared Georgiana. She wondered if he had a serious illness that was wasting him, but he had replied in such a forbidding manner the time she asked him if he was ill that she could not broach the subject again.

Always grim, always hard.

There had never been that haunted gauntness to his face. The coldness in his eyes was greater. The black working that lingered in his scar radiated danger. Georgiana pulled her chair to the opposite side of him, so his jaw and cheeks would be between her and his scar.

Richard's spare office was bare of books, paintings, decorations. Only his sword functionally hung on the wall where he could reach it in an instant. Richard snarled out the window as she entered.

But when he saw her, his face softened, and he smiled with that charm she had always loved in her cousin. "My dear Georgie, in what manner can I aid you today? I have been in an ill mood. A problem gnaws at me whose solution I cannot see."

"Perhaps I could help?"

Richard blinked at her saying that. Then a smile, friendly with an edge of something strange, grew. "By Jove! You could! By Jove you can." He laughed. "But what do you wish me to help you with."

"I am worried. So worried for Fitzwilliam."

Georgiana babbled out everything she had heard from Fitzwilliam, and all her worries, and how frightened she was because Fitzwilliam had stayed in his room for so long, doing whatever Mr. Roberts told him to.

At first it seemed as if Richard barely listened to her. Then suddenly he placed his hands upon the table, and attended to her with a pale-faced complete attention. Georgiana's heart skipped a staccato beat from the intensity with which he looked at her.

"You are right." He said with a dread voice, "Fitzwilliam is in great danger. Greater by far than you realize. And time runs short. I wish you had approached me sooner. We must speak with him now."

"But how?"

"We must interrupt these meditations Mr. Roberts gave him. Before they are finished and time is too late. You must help me to enter his chambers. As one of the blood you can pass the wards and bring me with you."

"But…" Georgiana knew that was something strange to be asked.

"Immediately. Your brother's very life is at stake."

Georgiana swallowed and nodded. She would do anything for Fitzwilliam.


	39. Chapter 39

When William's consciousness rose from his deep trance, he understood.

He and Elizabeth were almost one soul. To harm her would be to harm himself. This oneness connected them and brought them together.

Hertfordshire.

There was nothing more important than to ride to Hertfordshire. He would leave and not return until he returned with the rightful mistress of Pemberley.

Elizabeth would forgive him. She already had. He could feel it.

William — or was he Darcy? — blinked open his eyes and stretched his arms high above his head, feeling the muscles let go of their tension. He was at peace for the first time. Entirely and completely at peace. He was whole. He was both.

He was happy.

Some disturbance in the magic of his chambers had woken him.

Darcy tilted his head to look at the door, unworried, as he was safe in here.

The door opened. Georgiana ran into the room. She could enter as a member of his family, but he did not need to defend himself against her.

But for her to interrupt him was deeply unusual.

Behind her came Richard, his hands already shaping a working that glowed black with demonic power.

He had been the scarred man Elizabeth saw.

Darcy pressed out his will to connect to the house and to armor himself.

Richard had already formed his magic and he extended his hand. A death working was launched towards Darcy as a black blob.

Darcy gathered together his will to deflect at a nearly instantaneous speed. Too slow.

The murder spell struck; all became dark.

Georgiana screamed and screamed.

So stupid. She had known there was a second traitor.

Richard.

She had killed her brother.

The shivering shock at the sudden bloodshed. Georgiana knew enough of magical combat to know her brother died when he did not deflect that strike from Richard. A subita morte working.

She had killed Fitzwilliam.

Her cousin cackled. "I was the traitor — you will be known as the killer. I will be given the regency. The one man Fitzwilliam trusted and elevated. And you, gone mad with jealousy and grief over your dead lover, striking your brother."

Richard raised his hand, glowing with the power. Georgiana deserved death, but she had a duty to her family to survive. She threw herself to the side.

Richard's eyes tracked her.

Her futile attempt to dodge was pointless desperation.

As her shoulder crunched against the wooden floor, Richard unleashed his spell towards her.

He was blasted into the wall and his spell struck the portrait of her father above the fireplace.

Impossible.

Fitzwilliam stood again, swaying as he held onto the edge of his desk.

Richard's clothes burned, but he'd survived the blow and he looked at Fitzwilliam in shock. "How? You didn't block."

Fitzwilliam gathered together his will to strike again.

Richard pulled his power together faster, shaping a violent spell.

Fitzwilliam still wasn't defended. The connection they both had to the house told Georgiana how frazzled and unready Fitzwilliam was.

He should be dead.

Richard was casting a spell that used a physical blow. Whatever Fitzwilliam had done to stop the spiritual destruction from Richard's first spell wouldn't protect him from that.

Georgiana leapt faster than she'd ever moved, and she threw herself in the way of his bolt. It tore through her chest. Her vision dimmed.

Fitzwilliam struck Richard again. Richard's entire body turned into flames. Pemberley listened to the will of the owner and fed the fire that became blue with heat as Richard defended himself from this death.

The last thing Georgiana saw as she lost consciousness was Richard fleeing down the passageway as Fitzwilliam sent a lightning bolt with a massive thunder clap after his cousin. Richard was struck, and Georgiana's world become dark.

Darcy needed to help Georgiana. She was still alive.

Georgiana bled profusely, the veins in her shoulder had been torn open and dark red spurts pumped out.

With the instinctive knowledge that had been trained into him over years, Darcy placed his hands over the injury, compelling the heart to almost cease beating, slowing the blood loss to a seep. He placed another working over her head, so that his magic would draw oxygen into the blood and tissue.

Richard had escaped. He had somehow evaded Pemberley's attempts to ensnare him. He was too weak to chase Richard. Darcy's magic felt wrong, though he could still cast.

Damn, damn, damn.

Only a little faster and he would have not just burned the bedamned traitor.

The house was awake, aware a fight had occurred. Darcy removed the wards from his room, and the doctor who served Pemberley rushed in with guards and men.

He would have been killed without Georgiana's sacrifice, and even now he could not tell if the damage had reached her heart. Would her injury heal?

The doctor immediately kneeled down.

Despite the horror of the last minutes, he needed to return to Elizabeth.

Darcy's heart hammered, and he hurt.

The doctor treated Georgiana, pressing his fingers and magic into her bleeding chest. Other men with training in healing arts joined him.

Spots swam in front of Darcy's eyes. He ignored them, but they grew and circled faster and faster. He would sit and eat as soon as he knew if Georgiana was well. He was so faint.

Such a large pool of blood.

The hole in her body. He would have died again. Richard had decided to kill him. Richard had killed him. Without deflection, the working Richard used first killed everyone. Yet he'd survived.

Richard.

Richard had murdered Wickham just when Wickham had chosen to make a deal to ensure that his role could not be found out.

Someone asked, "What happened?"

Darcy looked towards the voice. He just shook his head, unable to speak. His swimming eyes refused to focus. He looked at Georgiana again.

The sharp smell of blood filled the room. The doctor's hands glowed. The doctor occasionally issued sharp commands to one or another of the men to assist him.

It became harder and harder to stand. Darcy's legs shook under him. He only saw red blood and his sister's pale face.

At last the doctor stood up. He'd stuffed bandages into the wound. With a gesture the doctor raised Georgiana to float, and he walked her towards the door.

Darcy's eyes were too confused right now to see if she breathed, but his connection to the house told him that his sister lived.

With great difficulty Darcy stumbled after the doctor. Each step required his full concentration. Each step made him nearly feel as though he would topple.

The doctor placed his sister upon her bed in the room across the hall. "She will recover. No trace of cursed potentia. Just tearing, and no damage to the heart. If you had not slowed her heart so fast, she would have bled to death. You saved her life. Do not worry. Miss Darcy will suffer no permanent harm. How did this happen?"

Darcy's world turned black. He thudded towards the ground.


	40. Chapter 40

Elizabeth woke.

There had been a shock of pain through her bond with William. Then nothing.

Now she woke, and she felt him. William was injured. Dying. But if she reached him, just being near him would let him live. She needed to act. She needed to act immediately.

Elizabeth's eyes blinked open.

Sore and empty. Some essence flowed from her to support William over the grand distance between them. But even as she lay in her bed, the feeling faded.

Papa sat next to her, with a worried frown as he leafed through a book. "Lizzy, I worried so. I worried so. What happened?"

"I…" Last time she needed Papa to support her so she could help William he had not. He had never supported her.

"It was just like that time before…" Papa's face was grey, and he swept his hand through the scruff of hair left to him after he had gone bald. "In my book room, and of a sudden you screamed in pain and collapsed — tell me you have no hallucinations now."

"No…"

She could not trust Papa.

She could not.

Could not.

Papa would chase her after she left the house, but she could hide herself upon the road.

"I am entirely well." The coldness of necessity entered Elizabeth. She smiled as though she had no cares in the world. "I only feel a little weak. Perhaps another nap in a little while."

"We will go to London if you feel at all ill, to consult Mr. Kuipers or another skilled physician."

"Not needed. Only tired."

Papa's eyes were troubled.

She smiled again and took Papa's hand. "I promise, if I have any symptoms such as would worry you, I will tell you."

The air in her room was stuffy. She did not belong here. She felt as though the very walls and air sought to squeeze her out. She needed to be on the road, freely speeding north with a fast carriage and a team of four.

William needed her.

Papa pressed his hand over his lips. "I care for you deeply. You know that, Lizzy?"

"I do, Papa. I always know that."

"You would not… if your health was at stake… you must tell me, so I can help you."

"Papa." She took his hands. "I promise."

He looked old in his brown indoors coat. There was an age mark upon his bald spot which had not been there in the summer when she had gone north the time before.

She sat up in the bed and stretched. "I am waking now." She yawned. "Sleeping in the middle of the day has left me with a need for a walk to burn the energy. A walk to Meryton."

Papa tilted his head. "Quite late in the afternoon. It is raining. You had best wait till morrow."

"What is a little rain when one wants a walk."

Papa sat in Elizabeth's dainty lady's chair. They looked out the window at the lashing storm, throwing water in a constant roar at the windows. Until Papa had mentioned it, Elizabeth had not even noticed the rain.

He did not trust her.

"Lizzy…" Papa swallowed several times and sat very still. He closed his eyes and something in his expression made Elizabeth think he might be upon the verge of tears. He let out a long breath. Then another. "Lizzy," he said firmly. "You gave me a shock. I must insist you not leave the house until a physician has attended you."

"If you need me to remain, for your sake, I will. But I feel fine."

This time Elizabeth could not meet Papa's eye. She felt a chill. He would bleed her again if she let him. He would.

She needed to escape before he did.

"I insist upon you remaining." Papa picked up Elizabeth's inkwell and moved it to the opposite side of the desk.

"Then I shall." Elizabeth smiled sweetly, but a sour note was there.

The two talked another forty-five minutes. The entire time the need to leave burned in Elizabeth, but no sign showed.

Elizabeth used a small working she activated without showing any external sign to make herself tired and yawning. Papa saw, and when she suggested she needed a nap now, he left her at last.

Elizabeth lay in her soft cozy bed for a half hour, with her eyes closed and her breathing even, as though in sleep. She even managed to give herself a tiny sawing nasal snore. Though she ached with the need to rush to William, she would not be precipitate and leave before Papa's guard had gone down.

At last Elizabeth rose, pulling her magic about her so her footsteps were inaudible. She placed an illusion upon the bed so it appeared she still slept there. She did not believe Papa had the skill to see through this illusion.

She made herself entirely invisible.

Elizabeth opened her desk. Less than two pounds available to spend. That would not hire a post carriage all the way to Pemberley. Elizabeth nibbled her bottom lip as she stared at the small collection of cold heavy coins in her hands.

If only she could trust Papa.

This money would take her to the Great Northern Road, and when there, she could return the hired horses and carriage to an inn yard and make herself invisible. She would leap to cling upon the backs of tradesmen's carriages traveling in the correct direction.

Elizabeth looked out. The early winter sunset had arrived. Darkness. A cart passing by Longbourn splashed through the puddles of water that had grown on their ill drained roads.

The time was now.

Elizabeth made no noise when she opened the door. She worriedly looked side to side, scared she would see Papa and he would see her despite her hiding.

He wasn't there.

Elizabeth walked down the hallway, her footsteps completely quiet.

Kitty and Lydia argued in the drawing room, and the thin strains of Mary's piano practice rose up. The rich smell of a roast cooking in the kitchen faintly wafted to her nose.

Elizabeth closed her eyes. She wished Papa had not forced her to this.

She walked towards the head of the stairs.

A hard hand landed on her back. It gripped her tightly. She was violently turned around. Elizabeth screamed in shock.

Papa pressed his lips tightly together in a bitter smile. "Hello, Lizzy."

"I am just—"

"Do not lie to a grander extent. You hid yourself magnificently with this working. Were you not my daughter, and had I not set the house to watch for you, I never could have seen you."

"I must help William. I must save him."

"William does not exist."

"He is dying. He needs me."

"How could you possibly know that?"

"It was true! When you bled me— All I said true! William was the man I was connected to. They never were hallucinations! Never! He was real! I was right! Right! I rescued him without your help when I went to the north."

"Did you?" Papa's face was stony. "Now you invent memories too. I am…I am sorry heartbreak has brought you to this state. But I shall not indulge your fantasies."

"It makes sense! It was when Darcy disappeared that I had my hallucination. Did you never wonder if that was because William was Darcy?"

Papa dragged Elizabeth towards her room, pulling her by her arm. Elizabeth threw herself away from him, planning to escape. As she did her hand fell open, and the coins of her allowance bounced over the hallway.

Papa seized her by the back of her dress, and he locked his magic around her, gripping her so she could not struggle away. He called upon the power of the house to support him, and Longbourn was vastly too powerful for Elizabeth to fight when already in its grip.

She could not move. Papa dragged her as she glared at him into her room. He sat her upon her bed and said, "As the Lord of the Bennet family, I command you as my daughter to not leave this estate until such time as I give you explicit permission to leave."

The locking bound her. Elizabeth would need to deny the family name to leave.

Papa spoke to the house. "Bind her. So my daughter cannot leave this room, and cannot do herself harm with her magic. Bind her so she can leave neither through the doors, nor the windows, nor by doing damage to the floors and walls and exiting through them. Bind her so that she may leave her room by no means, until I remove this compelling."

The house followed the master's will and turned her room into a cage.

Papa cried, tears dripping down his cheeks as he left the room.


	41. Chapter 41

Darcy woke.

He felt wrong. Like he ought to be already dead.

He ought to already be dead.

Darcy's mouth was completely dry. He shuddered in pain as a spasm worked up and down his person. He was cold. So cold. The only a trickle of warmth came through the connection he had with Elizabeth.

Voices barely audible around him. "Awake… he is stirring."

"Get Roberts."

Darcy closed his eyes against the brightness. Sleep again. Let the pain recede away.

Everything hurt. Everything was wrong. He should be dead. Dead.

Darcy brought his mind onto the connection with Elizabeth. Their connection was entangled with everything he was. Elizabeth and he were in a mystical way the same person. He could not die while she needed him.

Pemberley itself supported him. Pemberley's magic — he would always use that word for Elizabeth's sake — infused him. It kept his organs running. His body was shutting down as his body produced no more potentia on his own.

Despite not killing him immediately, his cousin had killed him. Darcy would not live more than a week or two in this state.

Elizabeth…

Darcy forced his eyes to open as Mr. Roberts and Mr. Palmer, the chief doctor at Pemberley, stepped into the room, replacing the guards and nurses.

"Georgiana?" Darcy croaked out past the pain in his throat.

"Yes," Mr. Palmer immediately replied. "She is asleep again, but she suffered merely physical damage. I could repair most of it immediately. By tomorrow morning she will be able to walk, though she should not strain herself for a few days. She wishes to see you, but…"

"I am dying. Why am I not dead?"

Mr. Palmer winced. "I know not either."

"I was struck by the subita morte spell, without preparation to fend it off. The working struck me. The sole question is why I am not dead. Richard Fitzwilliam attacked me. Catch him. Kill him. He made a contract to a demon, and he attacked me with Wickham and kept me imprisoned for six years."

"He is chased." Mr. Peake, the chief of his guards and hunters spoke clearly. "But we have found few signs of his presence."

"He is skilled." Darcy closed his eyes to fend off a wave of nausea. He was dying. He could feel it. "Have no regency. Give the power directly to Georgiana after my death. She is young, but she listens to advice — too much advice — and she has the humility to know she does not know everything. I would rather her rule than risk the failings of someone not of the blood."

Everyone else in the room looked sick.

Darcy said sharply, "I can feel it. I produce no potentia, and I will die."

"The connection…" Mr. Roberts sighed. "It feeds you enough of that substance to keep you alive, and Pemberley feeds you potentia. But…"

"Not a sufficiency. I shall die."

Several of the retainers crowded round his bed cried.

Darcy wondered if it was strange that he was so calm at this death sentence. He only wanted one thing. He wanted to see Elizabeth again. That would be enough.

"When my sister wakes bring her to me again, even if I sleep. I know not how long I have, and I must instruct her further on the principles of ruling as a Darcy. Bring me paper. I must write a letter, and then send it immediately out so that it arrives in the south of the kingdom without delay."

Simply saying this exhausted Darcy.

The paper was brought. He stared at it, eyes swimming, unable to focus enough to write. But he needed to write to Elizabeth.

So he did.

The ink flowed into the page, leaving blots when he could not control his hand well enough to move it. The letters were scrawled and blocky. He barely felt the pen between his fingers, and three times he snapped a quill accidentally as he gripped it.

Mrs. Reynolds enchanted one to be unbreakable.

In the end the scrawled letter was still too short, but it was heartfelt.

He should go to her, but Mr. Palmer was certain that he would die long before he reached Longbourn if he left the embrace of Pemberley's magic. So he had no choice but to beg Elizabeth to come to him.

But after Darcy sent off the missive, a memory came to him. Touch had strengthened their connection, and each had been able to freely use the other's potentia.

If he lived long enough for Elizabeth to reach him, simply being close might be enough for him to live despite the death his cousin had struck him with.

Whether this hope was true or not, he ached to touch Elizabeth again.


	42. Chapter 42

Mr. Bennet stared sightlessly into the fire in his library. The flames leaped and danced, hypnotically drawing the eye as the mind sat upon the morbid memory.

Again.

For a second time his daughter had cried out in pain and woken with hallucinations ordering her north.

He should call for Mr. Jones to bleed Elizabeth

Bleeding had cured her once.

His daughter. His beautiful daughter.

What if I am wrong?

Darcy disappeared the very day Elizabeth screamed. Perhaps very moment. His rational mind thought it strange the fate of Mr. Darcy and his daughter could be so entwined, over so many years, by coincidence.

Mr. Bennet shivered.

If he took Elizabeth north, she would discover that he had not mailed her letter.

He remembered Mr. Darcy's snarling sneer. Never would he force himself upon that man again.

There was a loud ring. A clang of potentia imposing upon the house; a ring that did not sound aloud, but only in Mr. Bennet's head.

With shock Mr. Bennet realized the house was being given an express message. Such a message was never sent, except by nobles, as the cost in potentia was terrible. To send a message simply to London would drain the magic of Longbourn's ley lines for more than a week.

He had never in the years of his ownership of the estate received such a letter.

Mr. Bennet touched Longbourn with his will, so that the house accepted the message. The piece of translocated paper materialized onto Mr. Bennet's writing desk.

He willed for the lamps to grow bright so he could read, full of curiosity.

The letter was written with a blocky spidery hand, as though the man who wrote it could barely hold his quill. The shape of the script frighteningly reminded Mr. Bennet of the last message he received from his father, calling him home from his grand tour to take up management of the house. He had not arrived home before the old man passed.

Dearest Lizzy, the letter began, I lie dying.

Mr. Bennet required several minutes to decipher the scratched out hand the paper had been written in.

Colonel Fitzwilliam had attacked William. Mr. Darcy — he had been Mr. Darcy when Elizabeth begged him to send the warning, and he had lied and sent no warning.

Mr. Darcy had been attacked.

Unwarned because of him.

Now William yearned to see Elizabeth one final time before he died.

Damnation.

Mr. Bennet had not meant this to happen. He only ever did what he believed was best. What he believed was right. He followed the orders of doctors, he did not bother the lives of his betters or seek to rise above his station. He put in the necessary effort to maintain his own position.

Not his fault William was dying.

The lamps glowed bright, but the fire burned low. The rain had ceased and the house had quieted. The hour was late. Nothing stirred.

He could hide this. Elizabeth need never learn it was his fault William was dying.

Mr. Bennet rubbed at his own arms, to try to comfort the ache in his stomach. He sweated, and when he picked up a book to distract himself, his hand clattered so much the volume fell from his hands to the floor.

The sound echoed eerie in dark cold silence.

Murderer. Murderer. Murderer. Murderer.

No. He had not meant this to happen.

William would die, and the whole matter would end. He would be sad and Lizzy would be sad. But his primary duty was to treat the return of her hallucination—

No!

Everything in Mr. Bennet's brain stopped.

Dazed. Like if a horse kicked him in the head.

Twice Elizabeth had convulsed in his bookroom with screams due to her connection with William.

Elizabeth had spoken truth. Always truth.

She had been connected with a man imprisoned in pain, and it had been the missing Darcy prince.

Good god.

It would not end when he died. Or perhaps it would. But she was tied to him. She would feel when he died. She would scream again. Or might she die with him?

What did this connection mean?

Like in a story, a mystical bond between two lovers — he the villainous father.

I hadn't meant this to happen. I tried to care for her. I did. Lizzy. My adored Lizzy.

Mr. Bennet paced. His chest spasmed with anxious sickness.

No, no, no.

She would never forgive him. Not again. He deserved no forgiveness.

This was not fair. He had acted rationally when he brought her to the best doctors in London. He had done what any devoted parent would.

Now William was dying and she felt it.

The hour was late. The pendulum clock in the book room rang out two o'clock.

Mr. Bennet's eyes blinked in yawning tiredness as the shock faded.

He had no choice.

He needed to take Elizabeth north. To Mr. Darcy; to their fate. She would learn his failings. Perhaps she would leave him forever.

But he had to.

Mr. Bennet stared a long time at the letter on the desk.

Tomorrow morning. It was too late to set out at night, and William's letter suggested he would live for another week or two. Ample time to travel north and arrive in time to observe in person the results of his fatal guilt.

I didn't want this to happen.

What matter wants? Intentions mattered not. Not in the end. He had been tested, and he had not risen to the test. Thus the outcome.

Mr. Bennet locked the letter into the safe compartment in his desk and went to bed. He prepared a working over the bed which would wake him sharply at seven in the morning, though that would be hardly enough time to sleep properly.

Tomorrow morning he would tell Lizzy, and they would travel north together.


	43. Chapter 43

The pain from Colonel Fitzwilliam's burns had sunk deep into his arms. Everyone would know he was a traitor contracted with a demon. Never could he show his face in England again.

Damn!

The demon bit at his being, chewing and chewing. Richard Fitzwilliam struggled against the demon, for the fifth time that morning, he clamped the hungry jaws sucking at his potentia shut. He would not survive if the demon took all that the thing wanted. He now fought a constant wearing struggle, but Fitzwilliam was winning. He'd found ways to make the infernal creature inside his breast hurt.

He twisted the potentia feeding the creature and infused it with a white holy glare. The bloody parasite spasmed in pain, and writhed. But Richard could not kill the demon without killing himself, though he now wished he could.

They would live together from henceforth, unless the demon killed him.

If he died, the creature would return to its realm and seek out a new host. The demon now wished his death.

Fuck Darcy.

Fitzwilliam held the holy glare on the demon so that the creature hurt and hurt. It was a tiresome matter fending off attempts to be fed upon every few minutes. He could not rest here for long. This dank hiding place was too close to the Darcy lands. Cramped and cold, with an old stink from the uncleaned droppings of the small animals who had made a den in the tiny poacher's blind.

He'd been marked.

These burns would not heal so long as Darcy lived. They would not heal if he died either, but if Darcy died, he would not be able to use his potentia which lingered in the wounds to track him.

Colonel Fitzwilliam needed to leave England. Go to the continent. Fitzwilliam looked through the window at the glorious snow-covered forest spread beneath him.

A perfect life had been his. He had gained great glory, and none had suspected. His only remaining plot had been to have Wickham killed so that he might marry Georgiana and gain the Darcy powers and fortunes. His demon had happily fed upon Darcy and been satisfied.

He had enjoyed women so beautiful the memories of their bodies made him ache. He had been praised by great commanders and nobles. The king himself had given him award. He had drunk much of wine and eaten of the finest meals. He had traveled the continent on tasks of great responsibility, and he had filled them and his own pockets at the same time.

Then Darcy escaped.

There was something he did not know.

Fitzwilliam let go of the holy burn he'd held against the demon. His possessing spirit spasmed. It was weak now, without the energy it usually possessed. Fitzwilliam snarled ferally at the landscape beneath him. He would live yet. He would become great once more.

The hollow mockery came back again.

Never great in England. He might yet find greatness in a foreign land, perhaps in the service of the French ruler. Except Napoleon's doom was clear. His army had been frozen when the nobles of Russia had burnt their chief city to the ground round him, and descended the coldest blizzard of history upon the city. Even gentlemen had frozen dead in the mystic cold.

Perhaps a more distant foreign clime. In the Spanish Americas they had a more pragmatic view of demons than in the Europe of reformation and counter reformation. Or in Africa.

The gusts of Fitzwilliam's breath were expelled as large clouds. He had stopped using his magic to warm the air around him. That would leave behind a stain that would make it easier for Darcy's men to find him. It also used his limited flow of potentia that he needed to conserve now.

Fitzwilliam rubbed his hands together. They were numb through the gloves, but he had been cold before. Sometimes it was necessary to not use any potentia.

Time to take a risk.

During the last weeks Fitzwilliam had littered workings about Pemberley that would let him know what occurred within the house. He spied on Fitzwilliam, on the master of the London house, on Mrs. Reynolds, their game keeper, the keeper of the stables, the lawyers — everyone who might suspect him.

Fitzwilliam concentrated on keeping the flow of potentia quiet as he sunk his awareness into the ley line that passed this hill. The line connected to Pemberley, and through the line he felt some of his workings were still present.

Only a few had been discovered already. He called on the others to see what Darcy had done since he'd escaped.

Like the odor of hot punch pulling a drunkard to oblivion, the information poured into Colonel Fitzwilliam's mind, pulling him to seek more and more.

And the taste of the knowledge was sweet.

Darcy was still at the house!

The doctors were around him, they expected him to die!

Ha!

Men had been sent to hunt Colonel Fitzwilliam. Some came towards where he hid, but without Darcy's guidance they would find it hard to catch him. The men hunted in large groups out of fear. Wise. If he caught any of Darcy's hunters alone or even in a group of two or three he would kill them and allow his demon to feed upon their potentia.

Colonel Fitzwilliam snarled in feral triumph.

He had marked Darcy better than Darcy had marked him. He had killed him in the end. But how had Darcy survived at all?

Fitzwilliam looked through his monitoring spells, attempting to find some extra information. Then he saw it. Darcy had written a letter, despite his deep illness, and he had it sent off by express to the south, but not to a Darcy holding. The letter had traveled through the ley lines he had placed workings upon, so Fitzwilliam was able to call upon the words and read them.

Miss Bennet? Why did he remember that name?

What sort of connection was between them?

She had been the daughter of the family Darcy stayed with as an amnesiac.

The demon gibbered in excitement. Quivering. Fitzwilliam tensed to fight him again.

Not yet. He didn't want to do it again so quick. It had not been a quarter of an hour since last he defeated the demon.

 _Girl! Girl!_ The infernal creature squealed in Fitzwilliam's mind in its half constructed concept language _. Holy soul connection! Made tasty man survive. Kill! Kill! My master rewards. Kill! Kill! Kill her!_


	44. Chapter 44

Doom grew upon Elizabeth's mind as the night proceeded. William would die without her.

She would escape, she would deny the Bennet name, and she would leave. She would sever her connection to Longbourn.

Papa would no longer even be her father. She would be an orphan separated from everyone. She had to leave for William.

Her room.

She could deny the family name, but she would still be trapped.

Darkness had fallen, and the house had gone quiet. She had been able to hear, with enhanced ears, Papa pace for a long time. But at last he had gone with slow heavy steps to his bedroom.

Time to leave.

Perhaps this again was a trap to draw her out and find her escape route. But Elizabeth had no choice. She must escape. Now. No time to wait.

But her room had become a cage. Elizabeth had never studied her own room as a prison to look for weaknesses.

Elizabeth studied the wards with her mage sight hoping for some obvious flaw she could tear through, to unravel the locking upon the doors and windows.

Longbourn had tied her into the room far tighter than Papa kept his desk locked. It was one thing to break into a prison, but an entirely different matter to break out.

Elizabeth tried simply opening her door, but the bar was still thrown. She pressed her magic into the door, to cause the lock to flip. Nothing.

Surely she could find a clever plan to escape.

She must leave the house soon. Else, she would die, William would die, everything would die.

Think. Be clever.

It was like that time in front of the well. Except she hadn't been clever then. She'd just launched a fireball that burned William and nearly killed herself.

If she blew something up now, she'd wake Papa, and he'd stop her, and then it would be too late, and everyone would die.

Elizabeth could not feel her fingers as the terror pulsed. Act. She needed to act. Time passed too fast. Second after second.

Think back to that last time. They found a way out of William's prison despite the collapsed tunnel and suppression wards. William would already have escaped Longbourn. But he knew so much more than she did, and he was so much stronger.

What did she know?

William's working, the one which allowed magic to ooze out of the suppression field within his prison. They pushed magic through the ceiling, and then pulled the potentia to strike a boulder so it crashed through the roof and let them escape.

Diffuse her potentia through the door and then use the magic to snap the lock. She could shape a working around the lock to hide the noise when it broke, and the instant the door was open, she would hide herself completely. She did not believe Papa would be able to come from his room and find her before she renounced the family name and fled the house.

Elizabeth pressed her hands against the cold wooden door. She pooled magic into her hands and let it flow into the door.

Longbourn was the house of a gentleman and been lived in for nearly a century. Its sophistication was far greater than the wards William had broken through in the Peaks. Longbourn had been ordered to keep her from leaving through the door. The house recognized the flow of potentia as her magic, and the house fought against her.

If she pressed any louder, the house would wake Papa.

Soon it would be too late. Soon the worst possible fate would be upon them.

Not again. Not again. Do not fail again. Find a way. Be more clever.

She could not infuse her magic through the door. What about the walls? Elizabeth jumped up pressed her hand against the colored paper covering the plaster.

Longbourn recognized what she did. The house, her old familiar friendly house was now her deadly enemy.

Elizabeth needed to keep trying. She infused magic into the air, so it could drift under the quarter inch between the bottom of the door and the floor. The air was too thin to support her magic, and the flow dissipated.

Air. Gentlemen produced workings upon air stuff all the time. But how was that done? What did she do wrongly?

Workings upon the air involved infusing the air with something new, poison perhaps. Or drawing something in the air to a gentleman. Like how William pulled oxygen stuff from far around when they floated miles high in the sky the day she rescued him, so they could continue to breathe.

Elizabeth used her magic to draw air towards her. Instinctively, she compressed the air with walls of magic until it became as thick as water.

Elizabeth infused this thick air with her magic, and she knelt down and pressed a stream of compressed air under the door.

It worked!

Longbourn didn't stop her.

Elizabeth frowned with concentration. The tendril of compressed air climbed up the door until it reached the lock. Now she infused the air within the lock mechanism. The mechanism was not warded against magic from the other side.

Elizabeth pushed air into the lock until it was nearly solid, and she shaped it into the form of a key.

The lock turned in the door and clicked open.

Elizabeth grasped at the door handle with the air. She hoped that if the door was opened from the other side, the house would not believe she was escaping and alert Mr. Bennet.

The iron knob was slippery and it was difficult to shape the air so that it gripped the metal. But after a terrified moment the knob turned and her door swung open.

Instantly Elizabeth pulled her magic into herself so she became invisible, though she kept the compressed air available so she could use it as an unexpected physical attack to knock her father off his feet if he came.

No noise from the house; no sound of alarm.

Elizabeth cautiously inched out through the door, fearing this would set off the alarm, even if her opening the door had not.

Nothing seemed to happen, and Elizabeth realized that there was no way Longbourn, no matter how alert the house was, could detect her movement when she strained to hide herself from the house. It had detected intrusions of magic into itself, but not her.

Elizabeth released a long gust of air.

Escaped.

It was past two am. Now that she was out of her room the desperate sense of doom left her. But she could not yet leave the house. To exit she would have to leave the family, severing her magical connection to her Father, the building, to her sisters, to her mother. To everyone. There would be no one there for her.

Even if there was some new connection with Darcy, perhaps William was gone forever. Perhaps after she once again saved him, Darcy would sneeringly want nothing to do with her. She would be alone.

Elizabeth desperately wished she could save him with another way. She didn't want to abandon the family. Even Papa was only trying to protect her. But she had to.

The entire house was still, only coldness and a cat stirred.

Her heart throbbed as she looked around the upstairs hallway, glimmering in the dim starlight. She could not see the decorations properly, and she would never see them properly again.

That portrait on the wall was of her grandmother. She liked to admire the painting and remember her grandmother as an old woman. She wanted to see her grandmother one last time, but she couldn't.

She would have no grandmother once she abandoned the family.

The door to her father's study.

Elizabeth needed to enter the study so she could steal money to hire a carriage. She must take enough so that she could move at the greatest speed possible.

Theft was an additional crime, but she would repay Papa the money.

The study was locked. But from the outside it was simple for Elizabeth to insert her magic into the lock. She closed her eyes and concentrated, softly touching each of the bars featherlike. She imitated the feel of her father's magic with her power, so the room would accept her. This time it was easy, because the house was not alert against her action.

With a click that made no noise the bar clicked open.

Elizabeth turned the cold iron knob and walked in.

The books lined all the walls, like always. The room tingled with their magic. She had loved her father in this room.

No time for sobs.

Elizabeth went to Papa's beautiful rosewood desk. She knew her father's habits. No traps or secret compartments, just a simple locked drawer. It was locked with a different method than the room door.

Elizabeth pushed her power into the keyhole, and she calmly worked, half by instinct. The drawer popped open. She saw a letter, and she felt around for the money. There.

Elizabeth opened the billfold and made a light only she could see to look inside. Almost a hundred pounds in various bills. Elizabeth removed four fivers. Twenty pounds was enough to hire a carriage and replacement horses at every thirty-mile point. She was no great gentleman rider who could keep a carriage running no matter what.

As she turned away she saw a letter stuck in the drawer next to the money. It was written in a blocky distorted hand. Impelled by her intuition Elizabeth picked up the letter and flapped it open.

 _Dearest Lizzy,_

 _I lie dying, but I am happy, for I have learned to remember once more._

 _I should have followed your demand and never allowed Mr. Bennet to send me to London alone. I hurt you when I did not listen to your intuition. And now I lie dying. I believe you can feel how ill I am through our bond._

 _The unsuspected true traitor, my cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam has struck me a mortal blow, and only chance, my sister's sacrifice, and our connection have allowed me to live so long. Just punishment for my arrogance. Had I questioned you closely and politely, you would have given me knowledge enough to fear him._

 _I love you. That shall be my dying thought, I love you desperate and dear. I know you shall hurt so deeply once I am gone, truly gone._

 _Forgive me, Lizzy. Come to Pemberley immediately to see me once more. Though my doctors believe I may live another week or two, do not delay. Come immediately. Something deep within must see you once more, and touch your hand one time more._

 _Come, come quickly._

 _My Elizabeth, come quickly._

 _Your repentant, remembering William_

Oh.

He now remembered.

She just needed to reach him in time!

Papa again had refused to tell her. William begged to see her and Papa did not send her.

But why had he not known to distrust Colonel Fitzwilliam? Papa had sent him a letter. Did he not read it?

Elizabeth realized.

Papa never sent the letter. Papa hadn't wanted to. As she lied to Papa, he lied to her.

Papa wrote the letter, showed her the letter, and threw the letter aside, rather than mailing William. So much like Papa.

He did not give her William's letter, why would he give William her letter?

Elizabeth left the drawer open. She spat into the drawer, the liquid filled with a corrosive magic that ate into the wood leaving a blackened spot. Elizabeth touched her breast, and she felt that spot in her being which was connected to her family.

No longer.

She no longer wanted any association with her father.

"I, Elizabeth Bennet, do heartily deny my family and my name. I no longer have any family. I am not Bennet, but merely Elizabeth. In this I reflect my truest self."

She spoke in a steady voice. Papa would hear the echo of her voice when he entered the room. It was imprinted by the depth of her magical speaking into the very wood of the desk and walls. A memory of it would hang around his beloved books. He would never be free from her memory in this room.

Her magic followed the command. Every attachment but the deep connection to William fell away. It did not hurt.

The house recoiled from her. She was a stranger. She belonged here no longer.

Instead of crying, icy calmness fell over Elizabeth. Time was still a matter of essence, but she would be in time. The feeling of fate had returned. The natural defenses of the house gnawed at her invisibility spell, seeking to find her. She had to fight the whole weight of the house's magic, and this was difficult and painful.

Elizabeth quickly stepped her way out of the study door and then out the back entrance of the house.

The weather outside was cold. Elizabeth still wore the dress from the previous day, and she had forgotten her coat. She could not return for it. Elizabeth pressed her magic out to warm herself and hurried down the road, looking about her beloved haunts and seeing them for the last time.

The Bennet lands were no longer her home.

There was little she could see. The night was deep dark, and no moon shone, just the scintillating stars high above. No breeze stirred. No animals.

The darkness hid her tears which now could start. And silence magnified her soft sobs.

Never return.

A watchman would be awake at the post stop. She would hire a carriage while using a disguise that presented an appearance which would avoid question.

North. William. Love and the future. William still lived, and she knew that if she could only touch his cheeks, he would live and heal.

* * *

 **AN: So about poor Colonel Fitzwilliam being abused by the vicious author: He was. The author himself admits it. But it worked for the story telling... Anyways, as an opportunity to apologize to CF lovers bothered by him being a villain (ie myself) and also to advertise two of my books that are still exclusive to Amazon, after writing this book I decided I needed to write at least three awesome Colonel Fitzwilliam books to make up for the villainous use of his character in this book (and the less villainous, but still problematic use of his character in The Trials). So far _A Compromised Compromise_ had an epic Colonel Fitzwilliam, who is just a bit _more_ than any normal human being, and my just published book _Elizabeth's Refuge_ has a _General_ Fitzwilliam who helps save Elizabeth from the villainous Earl Lachglass (who also happens to be General Fitzwilliam's cousin).**

 **On the other hand, CF did not even show up, I think, in _Mr. Bennet's Daughter_ , so I still need to write a third awesome Colonel Fitzwilliam book. **


	45. Chapter 45

Something had changed.

William Darcy woke with dawn. Something important had changed.

What was it?

Elizabeth was coming to him.

Darcy's soul relaxed. She had read his message. She had forgiven him, at least far enough to come to see him. He would see her once more, whether that allowed him to live or simply to look on her a last time and then die, he was happy.

She traveled with speed, he could tell, yet it would be an agonizingly long time before she arrived.

But his agony seemed less.

Darcy rang his valet to help dress him for the day.

Once he had been helped with his slow movements into clothes for the day, he called his sister into the room, and he spoke with her at length about Wickham's mistakes, and the need to always rule with kindness, and to serve the people as their duty was to serve the family.

He did not yet know if Elizabeth's coming would let him live, so he must still advise his sister with the time he had.

A feeling grew in Darcy that he must do something. He must act too, at great risk. He could not wait for Elizabeth to come, but must go to meet her.

Darcy and Georgiana had only spoken a short time when Mr. Peake entered the room. "Sir." The man bowed deep. "A group of my hunters saw Colonel Fitzwilliam upon the road, but he traveled too fast for my men to confront. He was headed south."

A fear came to Darcy. "Towards London?"

"Not upon the road to London, likely he travels to one of the channel ports. Let me show you a map."

Darcy's heart froze when Mr. Peake's finger pointed out the road Colonel Fitzwilliam rushed south upon. That turnpike ran through Meryton.

Longbourn. Richard was headed to Longbourn.

He needed to meet Elizabeth. They needed to find her and surround her with his men so she could be protected when Fitzwilliam came to attack them.

"Mr. Peake, have orders for my carriage to be prepared, and your best riders to surround us as guards. We travel south, immediately."

"Fitzwilliam?" Georgiana looked at him with fear. "You cannot face him again. Leave him to—"

"I must go south. I feel it. Immediately."

"You can't! You can't! You'll die!" His sister cried.

"Likely I will." Darcy placed his hand softly upon Georgiana's head. "I am dying now, here. You see that. You know that — not your fault. I have no time for your sense of guilt. You were fooled, once more. Do not let it happen again, but if it does, continue to fight for the family."

The look in her eyes was torn and bleak. "I only found you now! You are my brother. I'll have no one. No one I can trust. Not any longer."

"Then trust yourself. Trust your memory of me. And Elizabeth. Should I die, you can trust her. She will be torn as well, but she is wise and brave, and she will do anything if it is the right thing to do. We shall meet her upon the road."

The carriage was prepared, with a team of four, magnificent animals, bred to accept great flows of magic such that they could travel at grand speed across the breadth of England without tiring.

Georgiana supported him as he staggered to the entrance to his grand manor.

When he reached the door, Darcy pulled deeply upon the power of Pemberley. The house responded, opening itself fully. His muscles and pores filled with the mystical energy. The fey power suffused him.

It would not be enough. Without being filled up again and again, the power would slowly dissipate, and his body could not use the potentia of Pemberley as it could the production of his own potentia. It could not support his organs and his muscles. He would have died within a week or two, but when all of this power flooding him dissipated tomorrow morning, he would die immediately as organs which depended on the flow of magic as a gentleman starved and shut down. Only while within such a powerful house as Pemberley could he live for any time as he had been.

Darcy did not mourn himself.

The house still longed for him. It desired him to live and not to leave. He whispered through his magic goodbye.

Such great buildings were more than objects, more than brute animals, yet less than human.

Darcy walked out into the morning glare. From the portico he saw a vast prospect.

He looked from the fields white with snow, to the hill tops, crowned with trees. He looked upon the barns with their red brick walls and the grey cobblestoned carriageway. He looked towards the dwellings of his people and to the rich columns of smoke which rose into the sky from their well-built chimneys.

He was leaving.

Leaving.

He might never return, except only as a body to be interred with his father and his other great ancestors. He had not done them proud, but neither had he entirely disappointed them.

Georgiana sat next to him in the carriage. She had only half healed from her injury, and she coughed heavily when winded. "I will not leave you. This is my fault. My guilt that you are dying."

The doctor, Mr. Palmer, sat across from them, with a worried frown at seeing his two most important patients risk themselves while ill.

Perhaps he should not allow Georgiana to come, but Darcy felt good about allowing her presence. She deserved a chance to help him, and she would be kept well protected by his men when they found Richard.

They started south, traveling at a terrific speed. It was yet before nine in the morning when they began. Darcy sat in the carriage, with his head lolling against the cushions. The doctor sat next to him, monitoring his health, and infusing potentia into him every half of an hour.

It did little good.

Georgiana usually held his hand.

Every hour the driver was changed, and his sister took turns. She ran the carriage at a hurtling speed down the icy roads, feeding it a working that cushioned the ride

Mrs. Reynolds and the doctor also took turns running the carriage, but they were not fast enough. Only Georgiana who believed fully in Darcy's need could drive the carriage at enough speed for Darcy's fear.

Despite their incredible speed, the terror haunted him. He would not be fast enough. He must reach south fast, and he felt in his bones it would be a near thing whether he was in time or not.


	46. Chapter 46

Lydia Bennet tried to tell herself this was the greatest joke ever.

Lizzy abandoning the family was not entirely funny. Papa had locked himself in his room after explaining to them when they came down for breakfast. He'd sobbed for an hour.

Mama had still not ceased to wail about the disgrace.

Lizzy had always thought she would be the one to elope with some officer and embarrass the family terribly. And now Elizabeth had done something much worse by expelling herself from the family.

Papa had thought he could order Lizzy around, when she was in love! Good for Lizzy!

It almost made Lydia wish she had let that officer seduce her. Except he was too long in the face. She would have had no fun if she'd gotten with child, and Papa would have had to force him to marry her, and Lydia knew enough to admit Papa might not have done so.

The morning was cold and wintry, but that didn't bother Lydia in her coat and magic. She wanted to tell Maria. She would tell the story in a way that made the whole thing funny instead of dreadful.

Mama had spent the morning moaning that no one would ever again receive any of them. After all that type of disobedience might be catching! Everyone would think so. But Jane and Bingley were rich and well liked. So Lydia wasn't worried.

She skipped along the road over the softly fallen snow, laughing as she nearly slipped.

The world tilted. Lydia's head exploded with pain. She whimpered in pain. A man with a cruel scar across his face stood in front of her.

There was something wrong with the scar. It radiated menace. Lydia saw nothing but the scar.

The man had slapped her so hard that her ear ached and rang.

"You aren't Elizabeth Bennet. I thought… where, where is she?"

"Lizzy?"

He slapped her again. Lydia bit through her cheek, and her mouth filled with the rusty taste of blood. She spat it out as the man pulled his hand back again. "My sister! She's my sister! She's gone!"

"Where?"

Lydia almost blubbered out an answer. But a calm voice deep in her head told her not to. This man wanted to hurt Elizabeth. Even though Elizabeth had abandoned the family, and was snooty and superior, and so much older, Lydia still loved her.

She wouldn't betray her sister to this man!

Lydia clamped her mouth shut.

"Where?" The voice told her that pain would follow if she said nothing. Lydia's cheek began to throb and bleed from the inside. Her skull still rang from his earlier blows.

She shook her head to indicate she would say nothing.

"No?" The scar on his face glowed. "You want to refuse me?" His eyes changed into a burning red. "I am possessed by a demon. Answer me or I will feed you to that creature. Now."

There was a force of command behind his words. Lydia would scream, burn, and wish she had answered. She would hurt. She would hurt so much. She would hurt more than it was possible for a person to hurt.

All she had to do was answer. So easy. Just tell him.

An incorruptible core of Lydia that marked her as of the same blood as her sister told her that she wouldn't do it.

Lydia shook her head again. He could feed her to his demon. He could make her hurt. She still wouldn't betray her sister to this creature.

The scarred man took her hand. Almost caressingly.

Lydia looked at the hand he was holding for a moment, and then she looked far away and squeezed her eyes tight shut.

He casually snapped the bones of her left hand in a single sudden movement.

Tears came into Lydia's eyes. The sound of the crackling echoed through her ears.

"Will you tell me now? I can take the pain away." He whispered seductively. She wanted the pain to go. Anything to make it hurt less.

That calm voice inside told her that he would kill her after he learned what he wished, and that she was made of tougher stuff than this. She could last longer before she broke.

Lydia was not sure she could last longer but she shook her head again.

His eyes became furious. "If you will not tell me, I will grab another of your sisters, or some other member of your family. You are not even delaying me by this stubbornness. You cannot save her, but you can save your other sisters."

Lydia blinked. The pain from her hand was so bad she could not think. Except he was giving her an excuse to do what he wanted. He had said the pain would stop.

The man said calmly, "Think of your parents. Do you wish them to mourn all your sisters, or only one? Will you die for that reason?"

The seductive powerful voice was there again. But this time Lydia did not know if she should resist. He would kill her, and then he would kill her other sisters. Lizzy would not want that.

Lydia shook her head no again, but less forcefully.

He placed his hand on her cheek, covering the developing bruise where it still burned from the pain of his previous slaps. The pain was numbed as he sent some spell into her body that made her thoughts sluggish. "Resist me further, and I swear that when I am done with your sister I will return here and kill your father, and your mother, and every one of your sisters, leaving only you alive to mourn everyone you love."

"North. She wanted to go to William! She'd been begging Papa, and when Papa would not let her, she severed her connection to the family and ran off. Pemberley! That is where she is going!"

He frowned at her, holding her at a greater distance.

Lydia felt sick. She hated herself for telling him. She did not know if it was the right thing to have told him. She believed him. He would kill everyone. He could.

"I saw nothing of her on the road when I came this morning. I have seen your sister before, and I would recognize her. Tell the truth."

Lydia had seen Elizabeth practicing her invisibility spells and her disguises. She knew Lizzy could pass unseen, but she was sure that this man could see through her if he expected to find Lizzy. Lydia confidently said, "Papa tried to track her, but he found that she had gone by the west road first, to make it harder for her to be followed."

He stared at her a long time. Lydia met his eyes, begging him to believe her.

Her neck was whipped around by the force of his slap. "I feel your lie. It is obvious she would disguise herself to hide from any pursuit, if your father was fool enough to care about such a daughter. She took the main road and was clever enough to make me miss her when I searched for the sort of party that would be sent with a gentlewoman to a gentleman's estate."

The man let her drop, then he almost casually gathered up power in his hands. Lydia knew he would kill her in a second. She had failed to protect Elizabeth.

"Hullo! My word! What is the matter?"

It was Mr. Bingley's voice, and Lydia saw him from the edge of her eyes coming forward. The scarred man looked towards Bingley, his hand full of the collected power.

Lydia threw herself towards his arm to throw off the scarred man's aim as she shouted, "Murderer! Murderer!"

The bolt went past Bingley, blowing a terrible black hole into a grand old oak tree. Lydia was shocked to see how quickly Bingley replied to the strike pulling shields around him and throwing a magical bolt towards the man.

He blocked it and threw several more spells towards Bingley who dodged and seemed to hold his own. Lydia scrambled to her feet and ran away from the road and into the woods to hide behind a tree. As a woman she knew nothing useful. She was so terrified. Surely the friendly, amiable Bingley could be no match for this terrifying incarnation of death.

The man sent repeated spells towards Bingley that Bingley deflected. Then the man turned, leaped onto the horse that sat by the tree and galloped away from Longbourn. As he fled more bolts of light flashed from Bingley towards him, but they did nothing to slow the man down.

"You did it!" Lydia staggered towards Bingley. "You made him run away!"

The pain in her hand returned now that she knew she would not die in an instant. She cradled her hand against her chest. Everything was all right. Bingley had his horse here, and he could take her back to Longbourn, and then the doctor would come.

Bingley shook his head. "He could have beaten me easily. He did not wish to take the time — good God! Lydia, what did he do to you?"

Lydia started crying again. "He, he…he broke my hand and slapped me and…"

There was a rolling thunder of hooves coming up the road. It was Papa. "Bingley! The deuce! A fight? My trees! What happened here? Lydia!"

Papa leaped off his horse, moving faster than she'd ever seen him before. "Who did this?"

"I only saw him from a distance. He ran off, when he perceived you coming."

"Lizzy!" Lydia needed to tell them. Maybe they could do something to help her. "He wanted to know where Lizzy was! He is going to kill her."

Papa's face went pale. He closed his eyes, breathing shallowly. "I knew this would come of her connection to that man."

"He is following her along the main road! He thinks he can find her. He is so dangerous."

Papa's face became set. He ran back to the horse and leapt on. Then he spurred it at a fast pace down the road the scarred man had taken.

Bingley swore. "Deuced fool. No way he won't be killed." Bingley ran back to his horse and leaped upon it and followed Mr. Bennet.

Lydia was left alone in the small road, cradling her shattered hand. She was terrified for her parents and Lizzy. She hurt more than she ever had before.

Lydia softly walked back the road to Longbourn.


	47. Chapter 47

The winter sun was setting, and the roads had begun to ice over once more when Georgiana's desperate driving at last had its cost. She struck one of the many icy patches and she attempted to slide over the ice at speed so they could keep their momentum. She guided it along the road with her magic, as she had a half dozen other times during their trip.

This time Georgiana failed and the carriage's right wheel clipped a rock along the edge of the road. With a clattering crash both she and Darcy instinctively threw up shields that protected them completely from injury as the fragile carriage rolled over and over and crunched into a tree.

They were both thrown out and surrounded by the destroyed wood while his riders gathered around to see if they were well.

Georgiana looked at him with her wide soft eyes. "Sorry, so sorry. You said you must move fast — what can we do now?"

The road was abandoned on this day. The deep cold was too much for most travelers. Too icy for carriages run by anything but a gentleman.

As they closed the distance with Elizabeth, Darcy felt himself strengthen. The aches were passing. He was somehow healthier the closer he came to Elizabeth. The connection became stronger, less strained. Their tie allowed more to pass between them.

He felt the terrible premonition. If he delayed, Richard would kill her. Darcy had not a moment to spare.

He knew what he could do. More than a half of the potentia from Pemberley still flowed through his pathways.

Darcy shaped his will. He let his magic through his portae, and he launched himself into the air. There were only thirty or forty miles betwixt them still. He could barely reach her with the potentia left in his body, though he would exhaust everything in his body and die shortly after.

Yet, to his shock, as the flight continued he gained speed, and as he came close, his body's own matter produced potentia again. His pathways filled with his own power at a titanic rate, as though they had not been shut down fully, but merely stored up power they had been unable to release. He strengthened with each second.

The terror he would be too late remained.

Evening had fallen.

William was coming towards Elizabeth as she went North to meet him. He traveled in her direction at a great speed. They would soon meet in the middle.

She felt him became stronger as he approached her. Whatever had happened to him was beginning to heal, because they always had only needed to be near to be strong and healthy. Everything would be all right again, and forever, as soon as they could touch and kiss once more.

There was no premonition of danger before it happened. Instead she felt the piercing magic search through her disguise and blow it apart. She looked behind, and he was there.

She threw herself from the carriage, and as she rolled on the ground the vehicle exploded into bits, spraying her with splinters.

He struck at her again.

Elizabeth pulled in shields, and she let herself become light so that she was blown through the leaves and branches and into the snow up the hill. She then dropped all her protections as her body spasmed with pain from the near miss. She focused on completely becoming invisible.

The scarred man searched. His eyes and potentia probing everywhere. "Where are you! Where! Where! Where!"

He couldn't see her. All those years of practice, and even such a creature as he could not find her.

"Come out girl. Come out and I'll make it quick!"

He waved his hand and set fire to the entire forest. The burning smoke infused with demonic magic clung onto her as she ran back into the clearing, to escape the flames.

"Hahahaha! There you are my little girl! There."

Elizabeth saw in the way his eyes moved that he would not miss this time. She threw herself to the side and gathered her magic to deflect enough of it to survive.

He cast.

Elizabeth's eyes tracked the black bolt flying true.

I'm sorry, William.

A mighty clang sounded as the bolt struck a defense Elizabeth had not cast.

Red, white and blue sparks flashed on the shields. Elizabeth looked backwards for an instant as she ran again towards the tree line to see who her savior was.

Papa and Mr. Bingley were there.

Papa!

Papa threw some strange glob of magic like nothing Elizabeth had ever seen at Colonel Fitzwilliam. It floated right through Colonel Fitzwilliam's shields throwing him to the ground. Bingley stood next to Elizabeth maintaining the shields Papa and he had placed around her. Bingley's shocked expression showed he too could barely believe Papa had been able to land a strike.

Papa pulled out his pistol, an aid for weaker wizards. He shot, and Colonel Fitzwilliam's body shook with the blow.

Elizabeth breathed out a sigh of relief. Maybe he was dead.

Papa stalked forward towards the body, his hand glowing with a more traditional attack.

Like a revenant from a play Colonel Fitzwilliam rose. Black magic emanated from him. The demon glowered within him.

With a vicious gesture Colonel Fitzwilliam struck at Papa. Papa's strange shield glowed and the attack dissipated. He gestured again, and the magic shattered Papa's shield. Papa was hurled back towards the trees, his back striking an old oak with an audible crack.

Colonel Fitzwilliam snarled like a hyena and ran towards them. She and Bingley would die when he reached them.

Bingley launched three spells, but they entirely missed.

Colonel Fitzwilliam struck Bingley's shields with a mighty black shadow that emanated from his sword, shattering them. Elizabeth saw as if in slow motion as he swung back his weapon for another blow that would kill them.

From the clear cloudless frozen winter sky a thunderbolt fell upon the ground striking Colonel Fitzwilliam.

Massive and thick, leaving an afterimage in all their eyes, yet the lightning did not disperse, but stayed, focused upon Colonel Fitzwilliam. For an instant through the white-hot charge the man stood, as though he could absorb and live through even such a blow. Then his body dissolved into the hot light, and all that was left in the white column that was filled with William's power was the inky black remains of the demon, attempting to flee back to its infernal hiding place as its host was dead.

The white fire did not let it escape. Instead it burned brighter, and the inky blackness struggled until it shrunk and disappeared completely.

The lightning strike at last ended, leaving behind no fire, but rather a sharp clean smell.

Like Zeus descending upon man, William floated down.

Elizabeth hobbled towards him, limping from an injury to her side she had not realized she'd received until then.

He wore the clothes of Mr. Darcy, but he looked at her like William. His hair was wild from the wind.

He stared at her with wide glowing eyes. Then in an impossibly fast movement, as if he transposed himself to her, he picked her up and held her tight in his arms.

They kissed, and as they kissed it seemed to Elizabeth something passed once more from her into William, and in turn from William into her. Some binding of their souls ever closer and closer.

She closed her eyes and kissed him endlessly.

They were together, and this time she would never allow him to part from her again.


	48. Chapter 48

Darcy would have happily kissed Elizabeth forever. But the groans from Mr. Bennet made him attend to his surroundings.

Bingley stood over Mr. Bennet pressing his hand on the spasming older man's forehead. Bingley's own clothes were thrown awry, and there was blood on his face and leaking out his side. Darcy placed Elizabeth on the ground, and without once letting his skin leave hers, he took her small hand in his and led her to her father.

As he did he called up his mage sight. Black inky workings infused with the power of the demon he had destroyed wriggled in Mr. Bennet's wounds eating deeply. Darcy feared greatly for the older man.

While Bingley was likewise injured, there was no foreign magic within his wounds, and he likely would recover without difficulty.

Seeing her father's injuries Elizabeth ran forward, pulling Darcy by his hand. She knelt next to him. "Oh, Papa."

Darcy knelt with her.

Mr. Bennet moaned and opened his eyes. His gaze fixed upon Elizabeth. He moved his lips, but no words came.

Darcy now ached for Mr. Bennet and for Elizabeth. He placed his hands upon the black skin where the curse had struck Mr. Bennet, not burnt but black with evil.

He was no doctor, but he knew workings to slow the operation of evil magics. William closed his eyes, as Elizabeth pressed her hand over his, still not letting them cease to touch.

To his surprise the dark magic responded immediately to his touch, and ceased to dig into Mr. Bennet. Darcy realized that as he had killed, entirely killed the demon, these remnants of it resonated with him. Darcy concentrated to attract the dark particles of the curse into his potentia.

He called upon the white hot holy power he had used to utterly destroy the demon once more into action, and he burnt with a smaller working these small remnants of the demon.

Mr. Bennet let out a shuddering breath of relief. His once bright eyes, now clouded with pain, turned onto Darcy. "No use. It is no use. I am doomed to die."

"No, Papa!"

"Ha—" Mr. Bennet coughed. Even without the power of the demon powering it, the curse had twisted Mr. Bennet's own magic. It was a cruel working by Colonel Fitzwilliam, and a clever one.

Darcy feared very much that Mr. Bennet's prediction would prove the truth.

"I did not intend any of this to happen." Mr. Bennet coughed again. "But it did. Intentions are not what matters. Not in the end. It is our actions, not our hopes which are most true."

Elizabeth wept.

Mr. Bennet closed his eyes. His breathing ragged. Darcy did not know anything else he could do as he waited for a physician. He looked at Bingley. Bingley's eyes met his, and they both thought the same.

"Go, my men are upon the road. With them is the chief physician of Pemberley. Perhaps he can help Mr. Bennet, though I cannot."

Bingley nodded. He leapt to his feet and then whistled for his horse and set off north at a dangerously fast gallop, with a hand pressed to the bleeding wound in his side.

"You were always right, Lizzy—" Mr. Bennet gasped and coughed. "You were connected to William. I meant to take you. In the morning… I was going to take you."

Elizabeth cried. "If only you had…"

"If only. Such words. Worthless. I always loved you, Lizzy. I always wished to protect you and help you."

"You saved my life in the end. Don't die, Papa. Don't die."

"William," Mr. Bennet looked to him. "Elizabeth told me to send a letter to you, the day after you threw us from your house in London, to warn you that Colonel Fitzwilliam was the enemy she had seen in the Peaks. I did not send that letter for I feared to involve myself in such games, and for I believed you to be entirely a grand aristocrat, and no longer William."

"I am both a grand aristocrat and William."

"Why are you not dying? Can I go into my afterlife without the guilt of your death?"

"I will live. I will be well. All will be well, except you." William held no anger towards Mr. Bennet, though his choices had led to suffering. "The bond I share with Elizabeth replaces what the working Richard struck me with destroyed."

"Oh." Mr. Bennet closed his eyes with a pained sigh. "That is convenient. I am glad. Lizzy, will you forgive me? Forgive me for being wrong?"

"Oh Papa. I cannot…I cannot hate you."

"But can you forgive me?"

"Papa!"

"I deserve it not. Lizzy, I am proud of you. Unspeakably proud. Prouder than ever before. I know not how you escaped your room. But it was a skilled working. And you were right. All along right. Care for my other children. And for your mother. Even if you have left the Bennet family, there yet is the tie of affection. But each word pains me. Hold my hand, Lizzy. Hold my hand with the hand you do not keep with William."

The night had fallen. It was dark and cold, and Elizabeth and Darcy pressed their workings into Mr. Bennet to keep him warm. A scent, like that of the burnt air from lightning, but cleaner, purer, lingered yet in the clearing.

Mr. Bennet's pained breathing continued, but he no longer seemed conscious.

The time seemed to have been endless, but less than twenty minutes after Darcy sent Bingley off a great clattering of hooves arrived.

His guards, more than fifty men wearing the coat of arms of the Darcy family, and the doctor and Georgiana.

His sister saw him, and she threw herself from her horse, leaping over its head, using a working of levitation to keep from breaking her neck. She threw her arms around Darcy. "I thought you must be dead. How do you live?"

Darcy hugged her tightly with one arm. He suspected he would never let Elizabeth's hand go. He set Georgiana down. "I will be healthy. Doctors don't know everything."

Georgiana looked at Elizabeth, and she grinned and embraced the surprised woman. "You must be Elizabeth! We are going to be sisters!"

Elizabeth smiled back. "It seems we are."

"I am so happy!" Georgiana exclaimed. "You do not look ill at all, Fitzwilliam."

"I am not."

Mr. Palmer stood next to him. "I must examine you — how…how do you look so healthy?"

"Not me! Him." Darcy pointed at Mr. Bennet, who seemed no longer conscious. "He is to be my father-in-law. See if you can care for him."

The doctor hesitated, frowning at Darcy.

"Now, man. I command you."

Mr. Palmer knelt next to Mr. Bennet. He infused his hands with medical workings, his medical case opened of its own accord, and several instruments floated into his hands. He mumbled notes to himself as he worked.

Bingley came up. He looked healthier than he had earlier, despite the hard ride. His injuries had been only physical. "Is…"

Elizabeth squeezed herself against Darcy. "We do not know."

Georgiana stayed next to them, squeezing Darcy's second hand, but her enthusiasm was quieted by seeing the ill man.

After some time the doctor stood. "I do not know. The gentleman is most ill. He may turn either way. The crisis will come in the next hours. There was an inn a mile up the road, which will be warmer and more comfortable no matter what occurs."

The Darcy party went to that inn. It was a modest two-story commoner's building with a dozen rooms for lodgers. Darcy pulled a thin wavering ley line from deep within the earth to the surface, so Mr. Palmer could use the great power of the earth to assist in his healing workings. The ley line would dissipate in a few days unless maintained.

To draw it high had exhausted both him and Elizabeth, yet within minutes Darcy grew strong again.

The innkeeper found new homes for his other guests around the town with the money that he had been given, and he hurried around, preparing the finest foods for the large gentleman's party.

Darcy helped his men inscribe wardings around the house, never letting go of Elizabeth's hand, though he needed to retrieve his hand from Georgiana so that he could shape the workings. His sister took Elizabeth's free hand as an exchange.

At first Georgiana had been a little shy with Elizabeth, but Darcy had whispered to Georgiana that it would be good to distract Elizabeth from worries about her father with chatter. After that point Georgiana talked almost frantically to them both.

She did every few minutes turn to Darcy and say once again, "I am glad you are not going to die."

Mr. Roberts arrived at the inn two hours after they commandeered it. He had not been necessary in the carriage as Mr. Palmer was, and he had not the skill to travel at the same speed on horseback as they had gone south. However, he had followed, in case his expertise was necessary.

When he entered the sitting room, he bowed to Elizabeth and Darcy both. "I am glad to see you healthy. Now that I see it I am not surprised that you live. You do not look drained."

"I am entirely well. I can feel my potentia continue to flow. It is perhaps stronger than ever."

"No uncontrollable growth? Or anything that is perhaps…too much of a good?"

"No. I can feel myself, and I am healthy."

"Miss Bennet." He bowed deeply. "I am doubly happy to see you once more."

"No longer Miss Bennet." Elizabeth's eyes had a hurt look, and she squeezed his hand tighter, as Darcy pulled her closer to him. "I am now just Elizabeth."

"Darcy. You shall be Darcy. You are mine, and I am Darcy. You are Darcy."

His claim made Elizabeth smile. "I am no longer Miss Bennet. But unless I lost a significant memory, I am not yet Elizabeth Darcy."

"You shall be soon as the banns at Pemberley are read."

"We must wait for the banns? You could afford a special license."

Darcy pulled at his nose and shrugged a little embarrassedly. "I could, but this way my people — they shall be our people — shall come to know you a little before you have married me."

"Oh!" Elizabeth squeaked.

Mr. Roberts smiled at the couple. "Mistress Elizabeth, I am at your service, and I shall be your man. Might I examine you both, to ensure there is nothing to worry about."

"I shall not follow any advice you give," Elizabeth said, "unless my intuition tells me it is wise. We do not feel ill at present."

"You have good reason to distrust me, but I have made oaths to Mr. Darcy, oaths which will apply to you, that my first goal is to increase how much you understand, and not to assume I know how your case ought to proceed."

Darcy laughed. "And you sent me off still to do quite the opposite of what I ordered you. I trust you now more than ever."

Mr. Roberts inclined his head. Elizabeth looked at Darcy closely, and when he smiled and squeezed her hand she nodded. "I will permit examination."

Mr. Roberts studied them both closely, using a variety of diagnostic workings that poked and prodded his magical pathways. Darcy's mind wandered to Mr. Palmer and Mr. Bennet.

Would Elizabeth lose her father? He remembered his own father's death.

"Well, well." Mr. Roberts rubbed his hands together. "You will not die, nor feel any illness while near Elizabeth."

"I know."

"However, you are not well."

"What is wrong with William? What is wrong?" Elizabeth asked with wide eyes, apparently ready to listen to bad news about his health despite her distrust of the doctor.

Darcy shook his head and smiled. He knew deep in his bones he had nothing to worry about.

He adored Elizabeth.

Georgiana also looked at Mr. Roberts with wide-eyed worry.

Darcy had an intuition like Elizabeth's. He had always known she would rescue him. He had known he just needed to touch her again to be well. He now knew they would live happily together for their long lives, and they would rule the house Darcy well, and bring it to greater glories.

"Part of Mr. Darcy's core was destroyed by Colonel Fitzwilliam's subita morte working that struck him." Mr. Roberts said to Elizabeth, "That is how the working kills, for without it, a gentleman cannot use potentia and immediately dies. But through your connection Mr. Darcy received enough to survive. And now that you and he are near, the bond betwixt you means your essence substitutes for his. But should the two of you separate by more than ten miles or so, he will become ill again and die over the course of a few days."

"Then we had best not part." Darcy smiled at Elizabeth. "I told you Mr. Roberts would say nothing to worry us, for neither you nor I intend to separate ever again."

"No." She smiled at Mr. Roberts. "I do wish William was entirely healthy, but we must stick close together."

"It is a matter of his health." Mr. Roberts bowed again. "I shall leave you to yourselves now." He wiped a hand over his forehead. "Mr. Bennet is slow to return my letters, but I will dearly miss him if he dies. My best hopes to you."

They sat together in the sitting room of the inn. Occasionally one of the men posted to assist Mr. Palmer in the sickroom entered to give a report on the sick man. Bingley joined them, and he and Darcy embraced.

"You were my friend. A true friend, when I was unknown. Will you yet be my friend?"

Bingley clapped his hands. "What a question. A friend is a friend. Of course I am yet your friend." He grinned. "Deuced glad you remember me now. I missed you."

They all talked and played various games as they waited. There was a forced air to the conversation. The fate of the man in the sick room could not leave their minds.

Late in the night, after the midnight bell had tolled, Mr. Palmer came himself. He looked wan and drained, but he smiled. "Miss Bennet, your father will live. The moment of crisis has passed and I have entirely removed the curse from his body."

Elizabeth slumped into Darcy, leaning her weight against him. "My father is well?"

"Not yet. He will sleep for several days. He entirely exhausted himself, and I placed a working upon him that will allow his body to focus all its resources upon recovery. The strike he took will leave some permanent injuries, and he will need to see a physician every month for the rest of his life to keep his fluvia from unraveling. But he will live. Mr. Darcy, can you promise to keep the ley line you drew to the surface consistent for the next three days?"

"It will remain so long."

"Good. Good." The doctor frowned. "Miss Darcy, you should be abed. So soon after your wounding. Do you not feel tired?"

From the manner in which he spoke, Darcy suspected he really spoke to him, but did not have the courage to order the Lord of the family.

Georgiana yawned. "Fitzwilliam, promise not to die tonight?"

"I promise."

Bingley stood. "I can sleep in the carriage. Jane and the rest of the family must know that Bennet will live."

Darcy stood. Elizabeth was pulled to her feet with him, since they had still not let go of each other's hands once. "Then off. I expect to see you again after you have properly slept. In a day or so."

"You will. You will."

"Settle in Derbyshire. You told me of how you were not certain you wished to remain at Netherfield. There are many good places there, I can find you an excellent estate."

Bingley smiled. "Under the aegis of the Darcys? Jane would like to remain near Lizzy."

Bingley embraced Elizabeth. "I shall return with Jane."

The two of them were left alone in the empty sitting room of the hotel. The fire burned merrily in the grate, as though celebrating the survival of Mr. Bennet with them.

"I was so angry with him." Elizabeth said to Darcy, "He tried to keep me from rescuing you."

"I know."

"I abjured the family name. I have no name."

"You have my name."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "I will."

"Your father saved your life and—"

"Everything else. Everything else I accept. But not how he refused to send the letter about Colonel Fitzwilliam to you out of base cowardice."

"I had acted in a manner that was beyond abominable."

"That has no bearing on the matter. He would let you die, unwarned, because — I do not even know what he feared."

"He feared my cousin. He understood how dangerous Richard could be."

Elizabeth shivered. "When he rose after Papa shot him…" She clung tightly to Darcy. "My hair stood on end, I swear."

"A dangerous man. One right to be feared."

"I abjured the family name. By magic and law he no longer is my father."

Darcy rubbed Elizabeth's shoulder and he squeezed her hand. No one was present, and she was his. She had no father to say him nay, who he must respect anymore. That was true.

He softly kissed her to comfort her. Elizabeth kissed him back with passion.

Elizabeth smiled with adorable happiness at him.

She yawned and cuddled into his shoulder. They sat together alone on the stuffed sofa. He held her tightly, and she drifted into sleep.

Such a day. A long day. But it all ended perfectly. Instead of moving them to one of the bedroom suites that had been left unoccupied by his guards, Darcy slowly drifted off to sleep on the couch holding Elizabeth against him.


	49. Chapter 49

Mr. Bennet slowly limped up the hill that was budding with the earliest signs of spring. Lizzy and Mr. Darcy sat on the white marble benches on the top of the hill surrounded by the blooming plants that now grew there year round. As he walked up Mr. Bennet passed several armed members of the Darcy clan, there to keep a protective on their lord and his lady.

Should he call the man who would marry his daughter in a few days William?

Three weeks since that terrible day when Elizabeth left him and they fought Colonel Fitzwilliam to save her. In this time Mr. Bennet had recovered almost as much as he ever would. The injury would leave him permanently weakened and with little ability to shape his own magic. He needed to call Mr. Collins to Longbourn to take up many of the duties of the master of the estate that he would never again be able to fulfill.

His body ached, in the joints and in the fluvia. But at least he could still read, and from what his doctors said, with proper care the wound would not worsen or shorten his life. The new weakness he had made climbing this hill a struggle, but he refused to give up. He had done great harm by doing less than he could in the past, and he would not allow self-pity and laziness to control him again.

Perhaps it was for the best. Mr. Collins had met Mr. Darcy a week before when Darcy had introduced Elizabeth to his aunt and her son, and from what Elizabeth said yesterday morning when they met at the inn in Meryton, Mr. Collins was quite prepared to do anything Darcy ordered as an echo of the fear Lady Catherine had of her powerful relation spurning the weaker Fitzwilliam side of her family due to the betrayal of his cousin.

His legs burned from the exertion. He'd always been unconsciously using potentia to make all physical effort easier in the past and he could not do that any longer. He now understood how William felt during the months of his recovery.

"Oh Papa, I had not thought—" Elizabeth ran down to meet him when she saw him come over the ridge of the hill. She grabbed one of his arms to help him the rest of the way. "William would also be too stubborn about climbing while still sick — I thought you were healed."

"By Jove, girl. I am fine."

"Men — I know well enough to not trust doctors. You said you were recovering well. I would have asked us to meet at the inn again instead."

"Hmph. I am happier here. It is still my land."

Elizabeth's face fell. "It would be entirely wrong for me to meet you in Longbourn. I cannot submit myself to your authority again — once I have married, and am fully a Darcy…"

Mr. Bennet felt guilty. He had driven her away. "I would not demand you to."

"The house would expect it — I can't."

Mr. Darcy frowned at seeing Elizabeth become agitated. Mr. Bennet realized that during those months he always had been like that. Observing every room to see if there was any threat to Elizabeth.

Being allowed to speak in friendship to Lizzy was more than he deserved. That he had tried to protect his daughter with his life was no justification for how he had failed her as a father so many times. Any father would have thrown themselves into battle, even with a man like Colonel Fitzwilliam, to protect their little girl. That was no virtue on his part.

Mr. Bennet sat down next to Lizzy on the cold marble bench and took Lizzy's hand. "I am very glad to see you. And I will be very happy to go to London to attend your wedding, even though I shall not be the one to walk you to the altar."

"Three more days." Lizzy grinned like the girl in love she was. "I am so excited! It seems like we've waited forever. And then forever again. I wish you could—"

"None of that. You have chosen independence, and you have earned it. You are the one marrying Mr. Darcy, and upon your own authority. Do not undercut that. Lizzy, I am proud of you. More proud than I could have imagined myself being."

Mr. Bennet glanced at Mr. Darcy's face. He had softened somehow at him saying that. Mr. Bennet said to Darcy, "Packed rout I dare say it will be."

"I must make absolutely clear to everyone that I am not seeking to hide Elizabeth away due to her lower birth. This will make it clear to everyone that she is a Darcy. I had — I would have liked to marry her immediately, but making the point before everyone will do more to solidify both my position and Elizabeth's before the peerage and our allies."

Mr. Bennet nodded and tilted his head wondering the answer to matters that he no longer had a right to challenge either Darcy or Elizabeth about. Mr. Bennet knew his daughter and Mr. Darcy had been inseparable ever since they reunited, and he would be more surprised if they had not shared a bed during this time than if they had.

"I am glad to see you recovered so well," Mr. Darcy added.

"I am not the same. Never shall be. Though your doctor did his best — you as well. You saved my life. That fight was the two most terrifying minutes of my life."

"You saved Elizabeth."

Mr. Bennet waved that away. "You both know better than to ascribe virtue to me for that — but I do not wish to talk about such matters. You have traveled all over, haven't you, these last few weeks."

"Yes!" Elizabeth grinned excitedly. "I did see Pemberley again, this time not as a tourist. And the garden is amazing, like mine here, but far grander. It is a Darcy skill. And the people there — everyone was kind and very happy to see me. You met Georgiana, she has been such a delight. And then we went to Matlock, to meet with Colonel Fitzwilliam's father — he still is William's uncle. And then to Kent. I told you about seeing Mr. Collins there. I rather liked Lady Catherine, which I never expected I would. She is so forceful."

"You can be forceful as well." Mr. Bennet looked at Mr. Darcy, silently asking if he'd been taking care of his Lizzy while bringing her to visit his relations.

The February breeze blew through the clearing, stiff and bracing. Mr. Bennet still had enough power and control in him to keep himself warm. It was greater workings that would be beyond him forevermore. Not that he ever had done many.

He looked around. "I have not been to this hilltop since you made the garden. The scent of jasmine at this time of year is lovely."

"If you like this, you must see Pemberley! — and the library there. You shall love it," Elizabeth exclaimed. "Promise to visit. The gardens are perfect ever. Rich, and citrusy, and rosy, and so many different types of blossoms."

"I shall come here often," Mr. Bennet patted his hand on the hard white bench, "and think of you."

"Do understand," Mr. Darcy said in his resonant voice, "you are most sincerely welcome at Pemberley."

"Lizzy, I have already said this… I failed you. The more I think upon my behavior, the deeper the guilt seems. I do not like the experience, but for once I should feel the full force of my failing."

"No, Papa! You saved me!"

"Hardly — you saved yourself, and Mr. Bingley, and above all Mr. Darcy. I did my part to fight him, after having ensured we would need to fight under such circumstances." Mr. Bennet saw the way Darcy's face was flat. "You agree."

"I do not. You acted poorly. But… the first duty of a master is to his family, and then to his retainers."

"You had been under my roof — let us not rehash this. I have learned to judge myself harshly. The question is the future."

"Papa, I want us to always be friends — I shall always love you. I shall always…" Elizabeth trailed off, frowning slightly. She was blooming and happy, and power leaked from her and Darcy, now that neither were trying to hide it. Between the two of them they would likely remake England in some significant way.

"I made a poor father, but I hope I shall be a better correspondent and friend for you."

Mr. Darcy quirked his mouth, looking exactly like William again, despite the golden splendor of his clothes. "I shall depend then upon you being a more assiduous correspondent to us than you have been to Mr. Roberts."

Mr. Bennet smiled. "I shall be. Lizzy, I have a gift for you. A little symbol, since there is nothing of substance I could possibly give that your prince could not give in far greater quantity."

He fumbled in the inner pocket of his thin wool coat, and pulled out a small hardbound volume which he handed to Elizabeth.

She looked at the title, Tales of ye olde Magicks of ye olde England.

"I have decided," Mr. Bennet said as Elizabeth looked at him. "That perhaps we have lost something, and that while in purely scientific contexts potentia still ought to be the preferred term, what you and William — Mr. Darcy—"

"I would like to be William to you once more." There was a hum of emotion in the great gentleman's voice. He really did care.

"Yes, thank you, Papa, thank you — and please, he is William to us, none of this too formal Mr. Darcy."

"Well then, William, what is betwixt you and Lizzy. It is magic."

Lizzy was teary eyed, and William had a satisfied smile. They looked out over the lands of Longbourn and out to Meryton, and Mr. Bennet felt as if some magic had contrived to forgive him his faults and give him a right to a good future life.


	50. Chapter 50

Three Years Later

Darcy frowned at the map, measuring distances.

Bingley stuck his finger on the river that ran through Pemberley's lands in two places. "Here, and here. If we build the dams there, you will be able to dig out the wastelands there to turn into mill ponds, and they are close enough we can connect the ley lines to the machinery to power workings upon them."

With a small use of magic the new Darcy steward changed the map so it showed how the land would appear once the dams were placed, and which fields would be filled with water, and where the buildings would be.

For the first year after his marriage Darcy kept the position of steward vacant. After Wickham and Colonel Fitzwilliam he had a superstitious fear of his own judgement on the matter, and even when Colonel Fitzwilliam had been there, he had done much of the work himself.

Darcy shared everything with Elizabeth, and she helped him with much of the work. Even though it was time consuming, and often mundane and boring, Darcy thrilled to gain a deeper insight into the daily patterns of life for his tenants and dependents.

However during Elizabeth's pregnancy he wanted her to have less work, and he wanted to be able to spend more of his time just with her and the child once their son was born. When Bingley and Jane made one of their frequent visits to Pemberley, accompanied by Mr. Bennet who had become a regular at the Pemberley library, Darcy and Elizabeth mentioned this to Bingley.

By some means the two had decided together that Bingley would be perfect for the post — though Bingley had been far less sure, and not ready to leave Netherfield and Hertfordshire behind. However, somehow they had discovered that part of Bingley had always wanted to reenter trade like his father had, and Bingley had convinced Darcy that he should diversify the businesses the family was involved in to take advantage of the growing mechanization of England.

What convinced Bingley to take the post was when it was decided that the first matter of business he could handle would be to purchase the coal mines his father had owned for the Darcy family. He'd never been fully happy that he had needed to give them up due to his father's will ordering him to become a landed gentleman.

Now they were bringing factories to the land near Pemberley.

"Yes — and it would be close to the turnpike."

"I had another idea the day past." Bingley dragged his finger in a curvy line on the map between where he'd placed the mill factory and the main road. A thin blue line appeared following his finger. "We could dig a canal between here and the turnpike. Dig it around the hills to minimize the work. Then we would be able to send our goods out at the cheapest prices possible towards London. If you and Lizzy and the other high gentlemen here would get their hands dirty with some proper work, we could then cheaply extend the canal a great deal further, perhaps all the way to Derby, and if we can get tolls from other merchants offering to use our lines, it might be profitable to set up a company to build a line down to London. More profit for the tenants and for the house."

"I should talk with Mr. Gardiner about it. There has been a great deal of these companies digging out canals, and I know his company has invested with them."

"Yes, I already sent a letter and he recommended a firm."

"Very good." Darcy shook his head. "It yet feels more than odd to make so many deals with tradesmen, and to be connected so closely with the City."

"We are building a new world, and we are at the front of it."

"My duty to my people demands that we prosper in the future."

"That's the spirit! Ha — I never expected I'd one day convince the great Darcy to enter manufacturing."

Darcy grinned back at his brother-in-law. "After I lowered myself with connections to such as you and Mr. Gardiner, the next obvious step was to profit from them."

"We'll profit very well." Bingley rubbed his hands eagerly, and then he rolled up the maps with a crinkle, and whistled as he left Darcy's office. As he exited he turned back, "Oh, and Jane wants you to bring Elizabeth over, quietly tomorrow evening for her birthday party."

Darcy quirked his eyebrows. "Elizabeth's birthday is not for another month."

Bingley laughed. "That is why it will be a surprise — we've mailed Georgiana, and she sent back a letter saying that she would tear herself from that suitor of hers in London long enough to visit. And Bennet is coming with Lydia and Mrs. Bennet."

The door shut leaving Darcy alone. He leaned back in his seat and looked out the window over his domains. There, that was the spot where sheep were grazing now that a factory would soon rise. There was a brilliantly colored portrait of his father on the wall by the window, looking just as he had in life, except a few years younger than when he had died. His father would have disapproved at first, but Darcy firmly believed once they understood how it would help the family and his people, his ancestors all would have approved.

The world was changing, and men of the city, who used machinery instead of magic to act upon nature, were becoming wealthier, sometimes to the detriment of the gentry. Control of trade and the intelligent use of human hands mattered more today than who had the most land. In just the past three years Pemberley had prospered enormously from seeking to combine his potent magic with the best ideas that Mr. Gardiner and Bingley could feed him.

At first other aristocrats sneered at him, but the wiser were taking notice and following him. And those who continued to sneer would regret it in the long run. While it was not a matter Darcy would ever boast about, or even wish to be known — often it was best to be underestimated than overestimated — tradition had always held that the Duchy of Cornwall and Essex was of second import in wealth and consequence behind the crown, while the Darcys were the third family of the realm.

The crown of course would always remain preeminent in England, and the Darcy family would fight to protect his majesty's position — so long of course as the royal family adhered to the constitution of 1688 and did not seek to take more power than was its right. But the increase in revenues he had already gained through his connections to Gardiner and the friendly relations it gave him with the men of the City meant that most likely the Darcy family was the second in wealth. And this income showed likely to grow at a rapid pace as new machineries were invented and adopted by men he formed partnerships with.

Darcy was nearly done reviewing matters and signing papers for the afternoon when Elizabeth and George entered his office. George ran in on his barely stable feet up to his chair. "Papa! Papa! Up!"

Darcy obliged his son, and lifted him high in the air, and he swung the little boy around before smothering his face with kisses.

The boy giggled and kissed Darcy back before Darcy set him back down. Elizabeth glowingly closed the door and walked forward for her own kiss.

It was always the same with their lips touched. Silk against silk. Her potent taste, and the thrill of their bond reestablishing itself with touch. There was a little glow of potentia around him, and life felt more perfectly and completely right.

Even now there were many days when the two sat all day together holding hands. But they both had duties which sometimes took them to different parts of the house, or even different parts of the home estate. Experimentation had found that while it was not harmful, Darcy felt too great of a longing for Elizabeth's presence if she'd gone more than a mile from him, and when she went to town to shop or to be seen, he inevitably followed her.

Darcy liked following Elizabeth.

They happily slid their lips together ignoring George for a minute, and Elizabeth pulled his neck down so his face was easier to reach with her warm hand.

"There," she said, when they parted. "I have missed you. What scheme have you and Bingley cooked up? He looked quite pleased with himself."

"Ah… well he has an idea to dig a long canal, like those they've built around Manchester from here to Derby, and perhaps to send it further south to London."

"Hmmm, can we redirect our rivers in that way?"

"If we use some magic I certainly could out to Derby."

"That anyways is not what I meant. Bingley was smirking."

Darcy smiled and shrugged. He was not going to spoil Elizabeth's surprise "birthday" party.

"Well?"

Darcy shrugged. "It is to be a secret, and I have agreed to keep it. Your honour must require you to not ask anymore."

Elizabeth giggled. "Unfair! Unfair! The only way to hide from me. But at least I know there is a secret so I shall be unsurprised when it is revealed."

"I was surprised when the plot was revealed to me. So I shall wish you good luck in keeping your surprise in check." Darcy placed his hand over Elizabeth's stomach, feeling her warm body through the silk of her dress. In her stomach his magical senses perceived George's tiny magical sister growing healthy and happy in her mother's belly. Because of their bond he could feel the changes in her magic and her body as closely as if they happened to his own magic.

Their love had created this little person, and soon she would be running around like George, but hopefully with Elizabeth's flashing eyes and dark hair.

Elizabeth softly smiled at his expression. "When shall we announce that there will be a new child? It has been long enough to know the babe is safe. I want everyone to share our joy."

"I think tomorrow." Darcy liked the idea of turning this surprise Bingley and Jane had organized into their own surprise.

"We must then arrange to call everyone to the house, so they will be present — I'll talk to Mrs. Reynolds, and…"

"Allow the arrangements to be my duty upon this occasion."

"You are planning something."

Darcy grinned, and kissed her again.

He then picked up George and sat the boy on his lap while he signed a few last documents on his desk, and pushed them aside, with the magical marking that meant his secretary would know he was done with them. Elizabeth stood behind Darcy and wrapped her warm arms around his neck and kissed his hair every few seconds. The perfume she exuded left him lightheaded.

The last document was an instruction for the house in London, he signed the letter with a flourish, closed the paper and infused his magic into the seal so that it would be unopenable by anyone but its intended recipient.

Darcy then stood up and kissed Elizabeth while still holding George up to his chest. The little boy squirmed and Elizabeth giggled and pulled George into her arms. "Ooof, you are getting heavy — soon you'll be as tall Papa."

"Even bigger!"

"I hope not." Darcy winked at his son as they walked into the hallway where two of his retainers stood guarding the door. "If that happens, I will magic you into a fairy frog so I am still the tallest."

George giggled at Darcy.

"I am quite serious. A fairy frog." George giggled again, not terrified at all.

"What even is a fairy frog?" Elizabeth's mischievous, enchanting lips asked.

They stepped out into the massive courtyard garden. Many Darcy men, retainers and distant family sat on the benches surrounded by blooming rosebushes and the tropical flowers Elizabeth had taken to raising over the past two years. They enjoyed the coolness of the garden despite the warmth of the cloudless July day.

Darcy stretched and enjoyed the breeze on his face. "I am not certain what a fairy frog is. I believe George shall be the first of the new race."

A few of the people, especially guests of the house, watched them, but most of his people were used to how he and Elizabeth always took a half hour break in the garden during the afternoon. Matters of business were never discussed, but Elizabeth would often gossip with his people, tying them into loving her more, while Darcy watched and usually fell into a drowsy nap.

"Now that dark Africa has been explored by our great gentlemen explorers using potentia to beat the diseases and local shamans, we must use experimentation to find new species of magical creatures to fill the Darcy menagerie?"

"Precisely."

They found a bench which was sunned so that Darcy could sit there enjoying the warm feel on his skin.

He could never entirely forget those years of darkness. And he habitually, even in the winter, liked to keep the windows of his room open, so that he could smell everything around him. It was a small hole in his personal defenses, but he'd layered powerful enough wards upon the open windows that there was nothing harmful that could come through them.

Elizabeth talked, and George begged to be sat down, and he toddled to a bush. Darcy leaned back and closed his eyes. He usually was tired in the afternoon, as he preferred to wake early to work, and he often needed to stay up late entertaining visitors and friends.

Darcy always knew through his family magics exactly where his son was, and he was surrounded by people who would give their lives to protect his heir. He did not need to worry for him. Elizabeth's soft voice talking to another woman soothed him into sleep.

"Such a slug a bed." Georgiana's laughing voice woke him. "I never imagined the Lord of the Darcys would openly nap in the middle of the day."

Darcy half opened his lids to glare tiredly at his smiling sister. She held George perched on her hip, while Elizabeth sat with her feet under her, having taken off her summer sandals.

Elizabeth said to her, "Georgie, I am surprised to see you — just yesterday I received your letter about that young man…the Prussian prince. I do hope nothing has gone amiss between you two—"

With a frown Darcy sat up and straightened himself. "I expect to see that young man soon, and—"

"Of course, he is coming. But a napper like you can hardly expect—"

"Now William is very sensitive about his naps." Elizabeth smirked at Georgiana.

Georgiana replied, "You are the one who taught me to make fun of William."

"I would have you know," Darcy replied with a faux offended tone, "that the best physicians recommend a nap in the afternoon as a way to rebalance the body, and allow the flow of potentia to stabilize between the body and magical core. In southern climes they have an afternoon nap every day as a matter of principle."

"You will meet my Prussian prince tomorrow. He follows me down the road. A fine man, and he fought at Waterloo. He can tell such grand stories. He was noticed by both Blucher and Wellington on the day, and—"

"I still can hardly trust Wellington's judgement."

There was a moment of a cloud over all of them at this reminder of Colonel Fitzwilliam.

Elizabeth shook it away first. "Well we will be very glad to see you and your prince. There will soon be — you are family, there is no need to wait to tell you as part of the whole formal group, but—"

"In good time, she will find out." Darcy put his hand on Elizabeth's wrist. He had decided he liked very much the idea of turning her very early "birthday" party into a surprise announcement of the new child.

Elizabeth's eyes sparkled. "You are plotting something."

"Yes."

George squirmed in Georgiana's arms. "Down! Want down."

Georgiana obeyed the toddler's command, and she sat next to them on the bench.

George started digging in the grass, using baby magic to cut through the roots and to make the sides of his little hole perfectly even. It was quite easy to use magic to put such simple cuts to rights, and the grass itself was infused with the magic of Pemberley which enjoyed playing with that of his heir. Else the groundskeeper would become quite annoyed with him for letting his son explore in this manner.

"I passed by your father and Miss Lydia when I began north—"

"Papa heading north? He told me nothing of the sort."

Georgiana blanched and stammered. "Uh, th-that is, I…"

Darcy smiled to himself. Georgiana had never had a talent for dissimulation. Even as a child she was quite unable to hide anything from him or Papa.

"She meant she went by Longbourn when she started out. I had asked her to pay her respects."

"Yes! You know how I love visiting that darling garden you and William built!"

Elizabeth smiled softly. "Those were happy days — and simpler. I swear I am going to be run to rags by all I must do."

Georgiana looked at Elizabeth with concern. Darcy pressed his hand on Elizabeth's knee proudly. He did keep an eye on her to make sure she did not overstrain herself, but she had become the perfect mistress, and by now even everyone amongst his people who had thought that Darcy had married beneath himself agreed. That her connections with Town had led to arrangements that caused more wealth to flood into his domains than ever before did not injure their fondness for her.

Darcy was aware in a distant way that many outside nobles thought he had married very far beneath himself, but that he was great enough that he did not need to marry very well.

"Your father is looking better. Perhaps my cousin's wound is finally healing."

"He does? I had a letter from him that said as much from Lydia—"

"I like her very much. She both is very lively and very serious. And she is so responsible."

"I have never seen such a reformation as Lydia's." Elizabeth laughed. "One must find the gold hidden under the straw when one can — she had an entirely different character before that day. I quite feared she would drag the family into some great scandal."

Darcy leaned back again, enjoying the conversation between the woman he loved, the woman who was more truly his own soul than he was, and his sister.

Elizabeth was so pretty, and her legs looked so well with her calves in her stockings peeking out from her dress, and her slender feet, and her red lips. She tasted so nice. Darcy's mind wandered to kissing Elizabeth, and lying entwined with her in bed, simply with their arms around each other. He slowly drifted into another sleep.

Darcy was perfectly, and magically happy.

* * *

 **Afterward**

The initial idea for this book came up in late November 2016. I had decided in the middle of November to put aside a non P&P project that I'd been working on since late September. This was also when I first arrived in Europe and had spent three weeks in Paris, and then went to Prague and Vienna before first coming to Budapest. I had taken an apartment in Budapest through AirBNB for a month, and in the middle of this time I made one of my many attempts to turn the story that become Too Gentlemanly into a novel. This time I gave up after a week or so, and decided I wanted to come up with an entirely new project.

This was during the first month after I met my girlfriend Sara, and I was going to meet her at a restaurant after a group she was part of met there. Over the previous few days I'd been looking at notes on novel ideas I'd put together over the years, and I'd read earlier in 2016 a book about slavery which talked about how the first generation of slaves captured were often far more difficult to control by their masters, who went to an enormous effort to destroy their sense of independence and to make them psychologically incapable of fending for themselves. I'd gotten from this an image of a noble prince enslaved and then how he had both the prince in him and the slave upon regaining his freedom.

At the same time I'd always had in the back of my mind that I would one day want to write a Pride and Prejudice with magic story — though I'd expected it to be a vampire romance (yes, to make a confession which is not shameful, I like vampires in romantic contexts. Twilight was the first fandom which I read lots of fanfiction in). Soulbonds are a popular idea in Harry Potter fan fiction, and I'd always liked the concept and meant to someday write a story with them.

The origin of this story combined these ideas. I had an image of Darcy recovering from a traumatic prison experience, and at the same time being the Lord of a powerful family in a magical regency setting. From that the soulbond popped in, and I spent December while traveling around Italy and Croatia trying to spend an hour or two every day writing a few chapters, and the first draft of the text was completed in that way.

Like Too Gentlemanly this novel gave me quite a bit of trouble to write. The first problem I had was that I simply could not get the emotion I wanted to convey in the scene where Elizabeth and Darcy meet right. I ended up entirely rewriting those chapters three or four times before coming to what I have now, which I do think is good — but is still nowhere near as amazing as what I would have liked to write, which would have been sublimely perfect.

The second problem I had was the middle section of the book. The Longbourn section dragged enormously in the first drafts. At first I wanted to do a fantasy novel training/power growth sequence because I love those sections in fantasy novels, but it didn't really belong in a Pride and Prejudice novel. At least I could not make it work for my story. (Some people, I know, believe that very little of magic, fantasy, and the other deviations from the genre I made belong in a Pride and Prejudice variation. I study such people through a metaphorical quizzing glass and then mutter singular, before turning away to more interesting subjects.)

The other problem with the middle section is that there wasn't any deep cause for tension. Elizabeth and Darcy really, really like each other. So why aren't they happily married yet? I tried to solve this problem while writing scenes that were still fun to read, but it is of course for the audience to decide how well I did. However, I didn't want to make up a really big problem in the middle of the novel just so it would feel more tense.

Figuring out how to write the middle of the book so we can get between the cool ideas at the start of the novel, and the cool scenes planned for the end is a really common problem, and not just for me. John Grisham describes this as the problem of the soggy middle.

In some books this is easy to solve. For example Colonel Darcy, the answer to the question of why they were unhappy in the middle of the book was embedded in the core conflicts of the story. The way that Darcy had been affected by his time as a prisoner of war, and the way that he was able to rescue Elizabeth from being forced to marry the baronet both meant that they started that section of the novel without being ready to tell each other how much they loved the other one.

While I wrote The Return was the first time I had the problem of figuring out how to give the characters a problem in the middle of the book. Mr. Darcy and Mr. Collins's Widow was written with the climax in a Hunsford moment at the middle of the novel, and that neatly defined the arc of the book. Buildup to that moment, and then dealing with how the characters become happily married after it. In The Return though, the biggest argument came near the beginning at Jane's wedding, and the rest of the novel Elizabeth and Darcy are happy with each other and flirt every time they are in the same room. I solved it there with the comic technique of having Jane interrupt Darcy and Elizabeth every time Darcy was thinking about popping the question.

With this book, the most fun part of the novel for me was the end. I thought a bunch of the action scenes were really cool when I planned them out, and some of them became even cooler as I wrote them. My plan for the end did mutate a lot. For example in my first notes Wickham was the primary villain. Alas, Colonel Fitzwilliam was more badass (I am sorry to those who love Colonel Fitzwilliam, despite appearances I am one of you — it really seems like I haven't been kind to him in the past few novels. I love him too, but… he is useful because of his manliness and military prowess for solving plot problems, so I use him to solve plot problems…).

I briefly, for the sake of us who love Colonel Fitzwilliam, thought about introducing Lady Catherine's gender swapped through dark magics son as the true villain, and making it only seem like Colonel Fitzwilliam was the bad guy. However my beta readers liked the novel with Colonel Fitzwilliam as the villain, so I decided to not fix that which wasn't broken.

So that is how The Missing Prince was written, and I hope you enjoyed the book. Whatever you thought of it, please consider leaving a review to help other people decide if they want to read it.

Also, I want to urge you to donate with me to help those suffering in extreme poverty. Year by year due to economic growth and the massive efforts of people like you and me, the world is becoming a better place. Fewer people die each year because of starvation, or lack of access to antibiotics and basic medical care. Maternal death rates are steadily falling around the world, and I think there are no countries left where it is more dangerous to have or be a child today than it was for Jane Austen.

The world is becoming a better place, and it is possible that within our lifetimes we will see extreme poverty end. Be part of this great change. Be part of bringing medical care to those in war zones and in extreme poverty. I support Doctors Without Borders because they are an efficient and transparent organization, but there are other groups who can make your money do an enormous amount of good. So pick one, and join me in creating the future we want to see.

Timothy Underwood

Budapest, January 2018


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